


Where You Go I Follow (No Matter How Far)

by spideysmjs



Series: Spideychelle Week 2020 [3]
Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Mentions of the Multiverse, Metafiction, Peter is supposed to die but then..., Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:35:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24880909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spideysmjs/pseuds/spideysmjs
Summary: “Michelle, you’rewhat?”Ned lifts himself from his seat at their brainstorm table in the middle of the open office floor plan and slams his hands on the polished surface.She takes a deep breath.The rest of the main storyboard team leans in, waiting for Michelle to say, “We’re going to kill Peter Parker.”In which Michelle Jones, a comic book writer, is plotting the death of New York City's beloved fictional hero, Spider-Man.And then she meets him.
Relationships: Michelle Jones & Cindy Moon, Michelle Jones & Ned Leeds, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Peter Parker & New York City
Series: Spideychelle Week 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1797640
Comments: 127
Kudos: 110
Collections: Spideychelle Week 2020





	1. legendary status

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, welcome to Day Three of Spideychelle Week, my friends!
> 
> And welcome to the mess that is my brain.
> 
> I'm not very good at fairytale retellings, but this is my best attempt of coming up with the wildest, most meta concept my brain has ever wanted to make. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!
> 
> \- - - - -
> 
> This was birthed from an Enchanted x Stranger Than Fiction AU idea.

**WEDNESDAY, 9 DAYS BEFORE THE DEADLINE.**

There’s a laundry list of things that scroll through Michelle’s brain once the clock hits 4:30 on a workday. Should she do a face mask tonight? How many pages of the storyboard has she drawn since clocking in after lunch? What’s the mandatory storyboard team meeting with the editor-in-chief for tomorrow? Can tomorrow come slower? Wait, no. She needs to know now. 

Betty Brant is clicking away in front of her, fully invested in the upcoming _Spider-Gwen_ issue, headband tucked snugly atop her head, and a rose gold watch dangling from her wrists. _Bugle Comic’s_ open space flooring of the storyboard department encourages its employees to be fun and enthusiastic at all times with one another, which makes Michelle feel significantly more introverted. 

Some days, she just wants to be left alone. So she can finally escape the writer’s block that has been eclipsing her from a chance at figuring what to do for the monthly issue of her assigned comic, _The Amazing Spider-Man_. Pressure comes with holding the mighty pen that determines the fate of the original hero that helped _Bugle_ thrive. 

Though, it _is_ a bit strange to Michelle that she has nearly complete creative control over the next issue. She had only been there for less than a year, and most times, the storyboard editor deemed her characterizations of Peter inaccurate despite the fact that Michelle did her extensive research on the guy. Quickly, she catches on with the _Bugle’s_ executive team’s tendency to throw the younger creatives’ ideas out of the window. 

Which is why the new assignment doesn’t smell like a field of flowers. Something’s up.

Oh shit, it’s 5:03pm. And Cindy’s calling.

“Hey,” Michelle answers. “I just clocked out.”

“You hard worker, you,” Cindy says. “Do you wanna meet up at Totto Ramen before going home?”

“Always.”

“See you in thirty.”

Totto Ramen is at the halfway point between both their offices. Cindy works at ESU’s own public museum. She’d been in that department ever since their freshman year of college. Now, three years removed from the wildest nights of their lives, Michelle and Cindy share a tight-spaced, two-bedroom apartment, their rooms sharing a thin wall that sends secrets flying across the faded baby blue paint from the previous renters. With a security deposit _that_ expensive, you’d think these landlords would at least try to make the place decent.

But with Cindy, it’s nice. They get each other. And thinking about their friendship almost distracted Michelle from the fact that her team has a meeting with the editor in chief tomorrow. Fuck.

She weaves through the crowded street with ease, having lived in Queens her entire life — sensing when she’d run into trouble on her way home from the bodega at one in the morning so she could satisfy her strange craving combination of dark chocolate-covered blueberries and a Slurpee. It’s usually right before her period, or right before a final deadline. Bonus points if they happen at the same time. The point is, she always carries a can of pepper spray.

At the restaurant, she orders for both herself and Cindy knowing she’d be at least ten minutes late. When she arrives, the food follows shortly, only after a few minutes. 

“How’s the writer’s block coming along?” Cindy asks.

“It’s not,” Michelle admits. “The final deadline’s a little more than a week from now, and I can’t even remember the last good idea I had for it.”

“That’s so soon. Didn’t Harrington assign it to you last Monday?”

“I recall celebrating,” she says. And then panicking after the party (of two) was over. “I don’t want to pull it out of my ass. But I also can’t think of a clever way Spider-Man can save the day from Mysterio that hasn’t been done before.”

Cindy shrugs. “Maybe he doesn’t.” 

She squints over to Cindy, inhaling a particularly slurpy string of ramen noodles. The static of clanking silverware and idle chit chat of other ramen connoisseurs washes over them, and then, Michelle laughs.

“Yeah, right. He always saves the day.”

**THURSDAY, 8 DAYS BEFORE THE DEADLINE.**

Today’s the day. She’s going to finally know what the damn editor-in-chief wants from their team, who Michelle’s _knows_ they haven’t come up with anything yet. Grabbing her lucky blazer out of the closet, she braces herself for a cool autumn breeze by slipping into the fabric of nostalgia. She wore this during her valedictorian speech in high school, and then to her banquet dinner with her senior thesis advisor and the rest of the honors sociology students. 

Her interview with _Bugle Comics_ ended with an immediate job offer, and that’s right — Michelle was wearing this fancy old thing. 

She doesn’t bother striking a conversation with Cindy, who’s still dragging her feet across their worn-out wooden floors (which, by the way, is used for the kitchen, and Michelle’s sure that’s an extreme fire hazard). When she stepped out of her room to pee in the middle of the night, the glow from Cindy’s laptop was still bright and blue, a Google Doc titled, _Funding Proposals Brainstorm,_ open. The two both facing a looming deadline at their jobs means only one thing: at the end of it, Cindy will drag Michelle into a bar, drink their weight in tequila shots — the night ending with Cindy’s going home with someone and Michelle cheering her on, respectfully. 

“See ya, babe,” Cindy bites down on her everything bagel. Michelle shuts their fridge, clenching her nose to refrain from inhaling expired takeout that hasn’t stopped piling up. She’s in a slump. She plans to sort it all out when she’s out of the said slump. 

Michelle throws her arm in a wave and just as the door closes she says, “Bye, Cind.” 

The nerves don’t hit her until their entire team arrives, waiting for the clock to strike 9am for their editor-in-chief to stroll in with a grand entrance before dropping a massive chunk of bad news that Michelle couldn’t stop coming up with ideas for last night. She contemplates getting up and grabbing coffee, but she doesn’t want to risk the possibility of standing up as the chief walks in. 

Right at the stroke of 9, Mr. Beck struts into the chilly, fluorescent meeting room with a board of graphs stuck underneath his armpits. He’s a big fan of maroon sets, wearing a particularly flashy, extravagant suit. Is it silk? 

“My favorite department,” he says. “Happy Friday Jr! I’m glad you’ve all set aside time for this meeting. Don’t worry, we won’t be long.” 

“Mr. Beck is here to talk about the future of our flagship character,” says Mr. Harrington. 

_Peter Parker._ Her story. 

She can feel the energy of Betty’s eye roll to her left without looking, and she can hear Ned’s subtle sigh through his nose, a tell of annoyance. 

Beck paces around the room. “Mr. Jameson is flying from his executive suite in Chicago next weekend and we need to make sure _Bugle’s_ in good shape so we can get more funding – you know, potential raises.

“The sales of _The Amazing Spider-Man_ are decreasing exponentially. More people would rather see different people in the Spidey outfit than Peter. For example, _Bugle_ revenue spiked when we released our first issue of _Spider-Gwen_ last fall. Nice job, Brant.”

Betty nods and shrugs. She’s spilled a few of her qualms towards the executive board to Michelle. She’s funny, someone Michelle could call a distant friend or acquaintance – someone she’d consider going out for drinks with one day, maybe. 

The chief continues to introduce the main reason why he’s here. He doesn’t come often, only to check up on the storyboard team when they’re not meeting deadlines. Except, this time, they haven’t even hit the deadlines, and Beck’s delivering horrifying news to them. 

“Jameson wants to end this story arc,” he finishes his sentence, stating it as an irrefutable fact that the entire team has to accept. Eight days before the deadline. “He heard that Jones is spearheading this upcoming issue and believed she’s the right person to do it.”

Pause. Huh?

“Me?” she asks. All eyes turn to her. 

Beck huffs, then smiles. “You, Miss Jones.”

She didn’t even know Jameson took the time to learn about his employees, much less a recent college graduate who’s been here for less than a year. Michelle blinks rapidly to shake away the dread of her imposter syndrome. She deserves acknowledgment. 

Maybe Jameson really did trust a newcomer with her work. The right corner of her lips curls upward.

“We need you to create an ending so incredibly powerful that everyone will remember who he is,” Beck says. “That the end of his arc doesn’t mean the end of his legacy.” 

“It’s just opening a door to more dynamic stories,” Harrington adds.

“And Spider-Man will still be around. Just no more publishing constant issues.”

This meeting is ridiculous. A discussion of demolishing a character that has easily become a New York icon — claiming it’s boring to watch Spider-man in action now because it ends the same way every time. Michelle will easily prove both Beck and Harrington and, most importantly, Jameson wrong. She’ll prove to them that Peter’s story arc will be remembered. 

Her subtle, fuming silence during the meeting captures the attention of her very concerned co-worker, Ned, who’s catching up with her inside the elevator. After heading out of the conference rooms, they drag themselves back into their fourth-floor haven of storyboard artists and writers. He’s shaking his leg as he taps their floor number. 

“Are you sure you can figure out something by Monday so we can start sketching it out?” 

She’d roll her eyes and say something spiteful, but Michelle’s positive that she and Ned Leeds do not have a co-worker-ship comfortable enough to crack a joke. “Yes, Ned. I’m devoting my entire weekend to figuring out how to end Spider-Man’s legacy with a bang.”

“I can’t really tell if you’re joking or not.”

The elevator opens. Michelle’s arms gesture for Ned to go first. When she follows him out, she sighs and stops walking. “I’m going to try my best to figure it out.” 

It’s a lot of pressure, okay? 

“I get you, Michelle. If you need help, let me know.”

“I’ll shoot you an email.”

He walks away. Her face is burning. Why must she always sound heartless talking to people?

The rest of her day consists of two different debates about raisins and the dehydrated fruit’s benefits, staring at an untouched sketchpad for the last issue, Ned offering her the third box of raisins (sans debate), and endless ounces of cheap office coffee. 

After emptying out her third box of raisins and for the rest of her shift, Michelle takes one, freeing breath and imagines herself existing in the same universe as the hero.

* * *

Peter lost feeling in his brain maybe fifteen minutes ago. But when he said that to his kidnapper, they got into an argument that you’re never supposed to feel your brain. Peter uses the genetically modified spider bite card that shuts the kidnapper up, and he doesn’t stop laughing for a few minutes. Then he thinks he shouldn’t be enjoying hanging out with someone who kidnaps him. 

“I’m guessing Mysterio sent you to kill me?” Peter asks, scooting the metal chair he’s chained into closer to the guy. He’s about 5’11, and he’s wearing a ski mask but Peter’s absolutely certain the guy rounds up his height to impress people. 

He’s lucky he’s not burdened with that task because he rests comfortably at 5’8. May claims he can still grow, but who are they both kidding? This is it for Peter.

“Something like that,” the kidnapper says. Where are Peter’s manners?

“I’m Spider-Man, by the way. It’s nice to meet you…” he trails his sentence over for the kidnapper to answer.

“Kevin.”

“Kevin, like Kevin Bacon.”

“No, just Kev-“

“Do you have Kevin pancakes and Kevin eggs?” Peter laughs. Kevin does, too.

“So what’s up, buddy? What am I in for?”

“Gotta wait for the boss,” Kevin says, tapping his foot like a nervous wreck. On cue, Mysterio swings in — his maroon cape cascading all around him. How does he fight with all of that? 

“Spider-Man,” Mysterio huffs. 

The answer is he doesn’t, by the way. He just has people click buttons for him. Peter’s learned by now how to distinct his own reality from Mysterio’s. This isn’t new to him. At this point, he should figure out a different way to try to beat Peter. There’s no way otherwise. 

“Mr. Mysterious,” Peter bows his head. The mistake was to move his mushy uncontrollable brain puddle. He’s pretty sure he’s concussed. 

Mysterio chuckles like the maniac he is. “Ready for your last moments, Spider-Man?” 

He walks closer to Peter, who helplessly accepts Mysterio’s plan to yank his max off of his face. It burns his skin, and the air exposed to the new bruises and cuts sharpens in the crisp air. 

“Or should I say… _Peter_?”

* * *

Her window access to the fire escape starts rattling aggressively. Michelle wakes up from her dream, an idea hatching for the next issue. She rubs her eyes and peeks out the window witnessing a flash of light beam across the sky. She runs towards the view, but the moment she reaches the fire escape, the rattling stops and the flash of light is swallowed by the darkness of 2am. 

Stranger things have happened in New York City. Michelle goes back to sleep.

At least now she knows what to tell the storyboard team tomorrow for their Friday collaboration.

**FRIDAY, 7 DAYS BEFORE THE DEADLINE**

“Michelle, you’re _what?_ ” Ned lifts himself from his seat at their brainstorm table in the middle of the open office floor plan and slams his hands on the polished surface. The heads that aren’t in the meeting turn over to them, watching in blatant curiosity. She remembers to tell Harrington this floor plan is an awful design. 

“I’m introducing a new character,” she says. 

“No, I meant the other part of your plan which is the most impossible thing I’ve ever heard,” he says. 

She takes a deep breath. It’s not a hard idea to swallow. She barely even came up with it. If Ned’s so frustrated, then Michelle will let Ned talk to Cindy because she’s the one that gave her the idea. If Mr. Beck wants an iconic ending — one that will have their superhero’s legacy carry on forever — Michelle will deliver. It’s a part of her plan to move up the totem pole of this company. 

Ned pinches the bridge of his nose. She drums her fingers against the table. The rest of the main storyboard team leans in, waiting for Michelle to say, “We’re going to kill Peter Parker.”

There’s a small outburst. Mostly from Ned. A bit of commentary from Betty, who has mixed feelings about the creative choice. But it’s Eugene’s response that throws the team completely off. 

“I think we should do it,” he shrugs. 

“You do?” Ned narrows his eyebrows. Michelle throws cautious eyes over to him.

“Yeah,” Eugene repeats. “Why is everyone looking at me like that?”

“You’re his number one fan, Eugene.” 

“I think it’s an incredibly heroic gesture!” he argues. “It’ll shock the masses. We don’t get much revenue from his issues anyway! This’ll work.”

“I can’t believe you’re agreeing with me right now,” Michelle sighs. “And you’re the only one.”

“This is your one free pass for the year, Jones.”

“I don’t need it _,_ ” she shakes her head. “And it’s not to shock the audience. I’m going to be careful with this. And there will be foreshadowing in the entire comic. Trust me, I’ll write a good death.”

Somewhere in the middle of Michelle and Eugene’s squabble, Ned sank back down in his chair. “Jameson did pick you for a reason.”

“He didn’t pick me.”

“But he knows who you are. That’s more than most of us,” Betty states. “I’m trying to say, we need to listen to you because you’re spearheading this. We need to support you.”

Michelle smiles at her. Like her real smile. Only for a second, though. “Thanks.”

Betty nods. She gets her. 

The small meeting is dismissed, and everyone gathers their notes to head back to their desks

“Well, you better come up with the skeleton of the plot by Monday so we can break it down into scenes and then assign panels,” Ned follows her. 

Michelle’s blood boils. “Leeds, I know how to do my job. I don’t need your help or reminders about deadlines.”

“It’s not like that Michelle, it’s just—”

“Just what?”

“Deadline’s in a week. Jameson’s visiting soon. If this doesn’t satisfy him, he can take more funding from us,” Ned explains. “I know you haven’t been around a while, but Jameson hates us.”

“What?” Michelle asks. “We’re like the backbone of this company.”

“I _know_ ,” Ned says. “But we’re the only department that has the balls to tell Jameson that his company needs to sell more diverse stories.”

She sits back down in her work station. “That’s exactly what I’m doing, Ned.”

“Yeah, but suddenly, Jameson’s okay with ending his most popular comic book character? Something has to be up.”

Michelle hates the fact that this had been her same suspicion before the meeting, the fact that she couldn’t believe she was handpicked to seal the fate of Spider-Man. She does, however, love the fact that Ned has the same level of the skepticism she has for the _Bugle_ executive board. 

At the same time, there’s zero evidence to prove anything against Beck or Jameson. They’re doing their job (in Michelle’s opinion, very poorly), and until Michelle gets promoted to at least Storyboard Lead, there’s not much else she can do.

“We’re not superheroes, Ned. No one’s plotting anything. We just have to do the assignment,” her computer finally turns on. “What better way to shake Jameson up when he visits than permanently ending Peter’s story arc?”

Ned paces behind her. “Okay, okay. I just… Spider-Man has been around for a while, okay? He’s the reason why I wanted to work here. I know it’s selfish, but…”

She swivels in her chair to face Ned. His eyes are glossed with a sense of worry that feels rooted in nostalgia. 

Michelle’s been reading _Bugle_ with her brother, Jason, for so long. She remembers building forts and reading stories of a teenager her age saving the city. She remembers reading the panel where the citizens of New York all wear suits to protect Peter’s identity. And then afterward, she remembers Jason telling her he’s trans, and that Spider-Man makes him feel supported because anyone can wear the suit, and still be themselves. 

Michelle smiles at the memory, and then at Ned as she softly whispers, “No one’s going to forget Peter Parker.” 


	2. seeing spots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's all happening! Chapter Two! 
> 
> Thank you for all being patient with me.

**FRIDAY, TIME UNKNOWN.**

“Who’s Peter?” Peter lies, tilting his head to the side, wincing in pain as the wounds on his face stretch while he tries his best to look dumbfounded.

“Don’t deny it,” Mysterio edges closer to Peter, leaning so close to his face that if he channeled the strength of a million spiders to heighten his senses, he could smell the last meal his enemy ate. “I’ve done my research…”

“Come on now. Everything’s research these days,” Peter sighs. “I could google an article and call it research. Which is probably what you did. Let me guess… Conspiracy theories about the identity of Spider-Man? Or maybe–”

“Shut it, kid,” Mysterio spits. “I have big plans for you. For myself. To finally win.”

Peter rolls his eyes. He doesn’t have time for this – another Mysterio monologue, another one for the audience that he makes up in his head. It’s disturbing and a waste of Peter’s time knowing that at the end of the day, he’ll end up stopping Mysterio only for his nemesis to return with another convoluted plan to get rid of him. 

It’s tiring, and yet, Peter knows in his heart and soul that if he didn’t carry the weight of 8 million civilians in New York City, then he wouldn’t have a place to come home to every day. 

Peter sighs, getting ready for the gears in his brain to turn, eyeing different strong points of the walls and columns of the murky, abandoned parking garage and constantly planning his next move as usual. Instantly creating a plan is muscle memory to him, Peter always predicting Mysterio’s actions as if it’s scripted. 

But it didn’t always start that way.

Peter was a mess from the start and–unarguably–is still one. But on his best days, he doesn’t fumble. And if he does fumble, he gets up. Every time.

“Any last words, Spider-Man?” Mysterio ends his speech, shaking his head with a vicious smile as stalked over to Peter, inching closer and closer. Peter’s senses are thrown off, nerves flying in every direction, only for him to understand that it’s time to use his strength to withstand the God-awful depictions of feigned reality that Mysterio projects onto Peter.

Peter rests his eyes, breathing deep into his body. And then, silence.

And darkness. 

He slowly opens his eyes again to scan the room, but it’s not the same one he’d been in before. In fact, Peter’s not sure if he’s ever seen this place before – an empty station with golden yellow walls and white cement. When he scans the area, neither Mysterio nor Kevin are to be found. 

It’s just him, alone.

And for the first time in his adult career, Peter Parker–the _Amazing_ Spider-Man–has absolutely no clue what to do.

* * *

**FRIDAY, 8:40 PM AT BUGLE COMICS.**

The second to last computer shuts off, three desks to the left where Ned’s packing up his backpack with binders of what Michelle assumes to be Bootcamp courses for… UX Design? She leans closer to squint, only to find herself nearly slipping out of her office chair. Ned hears the clutter of noise and looks at her, his eyes exhausted, but content.

“You should really get home soon, Michelle. We can leave together,” Ned suggests, shrugging. 

She moves her eyes to the nearly blank sketchpad on her screen, only to have five measly bullet points staring back at her. Five ideas is enough for the six hours of brainstorming. She’ll get back to it after the weekend is over. Or if she has some outburst of creativity over the weekend, Michelle can always clock herself into _Bugle’s_ building – an employee right fought for by their department head. Harrington may be a nervous ball of the wreck, but he’s first on Michelle’s list of co-workers to lean on in her journey to move up in ranking.

“Sure,” she relents, finally accepting that her writer’s block has crept back onto her despite finally coming up with one unreliable idea of killing off their main character. As she logs off, Ned sits down and waits patiently for Michelle to gather her things. The silence surrounding makes Michelle feel more comfortable than she would ever be during peak working hours. 

Finally, she slings her satchel over her shoulders and nods her head toward the double door exit. Ned gets up, slinging his Jansport backpack through both arms before catching up with Michelle. After hesitating for a beat, Michelle asks, “So UX Design? Planning on dipping from here?” 

Ned laughs sheepishly. “No, just… trying to rebuild things around here, actually.”

Before completely stepping into the hallway, both Michelle and Ned glance back making sure all doors are closed and lights are out. She inhales deeply, taking in the scene of her empty workspace after hours on a Friday night, reveling in the fact that she could keep writing for the rest of her life. If her brain only let her.

“Like what?” she turns around and continues walking, reminding herself she has to slow down her steps and not walk too far away from Ned knowing, a habit Michelle’s had – a habit factoring into her superhuman ability to push people away. “The rebuilding, I mean.”

“Y’know some Japanese manga online is interactive?” Ned says rather than asks. They make their way to the elevator, waiting for the doors to slide open as Ned continues, “I’m trying to learn UX design so our stories are more accessible for people. Right now, I’m learning how to make a more inclusive website for people with disabilities.”

“Damn,” Michelle exhales. “That’s awesome, Leeds. I’m glad you’re using your nerd knowledge to help people.”

His chuckle this time around is less of nerves, but more of comfort. “Thanks. UX coding is the last on my list. I’ve learned Python, Java, you name it.” 

“I would if I could,” she returns. When the elevator dings and they walk in, there’s another silence that follows them, wedging in between them like plexi-glass. Michelle’s shoulders deflate as she confesses, “So I think I’m overwhelming myself with the end of this series.”

“What do you mean?”

“I just–” Michelle pauses for a beat. “I still don’t know what to do. It’s like whatever happens next is going to define my future here. It’s hard. And what you said earlier, about something being up?”

Ned furrows his eyebrows, trying to remember.

“You said something has to be up, and I agree because,” she sighs, sucking in her lips before revealing, “I can’t think of why Jameson would insist on me writing this. The end.”

“I never said that,” he claims. Michelle shrugs. Ned’s eyes flicker to the slowly dwindling floor count as the elevator moves closer to the main entrance of their building. “I said it’s weird Jameson wants the story to end in the first place.”

“Same thing,” she says under her breath, but before she can continue to attempt explaining how she feels, the elevator doors slowly slide open to reveal Mr. Beck on the other side. Something inside Michelle jumps, saving that hunch feeling for later knowing she couldn’t reveal her instincts in front of him and even Ned right now.

“Mr. Beck,” Ned nods, breaking the silence. Michelle squints and notices the jump in Beck’s demeanor, his grip against his clipboard tighter than it had been before they recognized one another. “Late night tonight?”

“Exactly–you know–spending my night going over _Spider-Gwen’s_ final proofs,” he exchanges as he moves into the elevator, while the two move out. “Brant’s timeliness kicks my ass, but it’s worth it.”

“Have a good night, sir,” Ned lazily salutes him as the elevator closes before Beck can return the greeting. Michelle grips the straps of her work bag tighter as they walk out of the building, feeling extremely useless for not contributing to the exchange of conversation. Once they’re waiting at the corner of the street, ready to dip into the subway entrance, Ned says, “You know, I haven’t seen Beck this much since...ever.” 

“If Jameson’s going haywire with his direction for _Bugle_ then it makes sense,” Michelle suggests, nearly brushing the observation off her shoulders despite the fact that what Ned’s thinking is something she would be thinking too–if not for the looming pressure of meeting Beck’s deadlines. “How long has Beck been around anyway?”

As they enter the subway, Ned tilts his head in thought–eyes following the yellow walls, dimmed by the low energy fluorescents of the station. “Don’t know.”

Michelle can feel her investigative gears turning, laughing at herself for feeling absorbed in this nearly made-up conundrum knowing that her only experience in detective work and journalism was one summer course in college, passing with a B+ without even trying. She’d taken the class for units knowing it wouldn’t affect her major GPA.

On the other side of the tracks, Michelle sees a flash of a person who seemed… out of place. He’s leaning against a column dressed in local posters advertising underground rock concerts for the weekend, wearing a dark grey hoodie, and looking _too_ into wanting to appear subtle. She slowly leans forward, hoping to catch a closer glimpse at his face, knowing it’s someone she’s seen before but not exactly uncovering the name to the face. The sound of the train rushing through the tunnel haunts her as Ned pulls her back, further from the yellow line she nearly crossed. 

She takes a deep breath, shaking off her nerves as she glances at Ned looking more confused than ever, even more than when Michelle suggested a possible scheme bubbling beneath the walls of their very own workplace. He asks, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Michelle continues to brush off her clothing as they step into a packed, yet comfortable subway compartment. “I thought I saw someone.”

“Let’s not go risking our lives for missed connections,” Ned jokes lightly. Michelle lets out a breath of amusement, looking down at the dirty subway floor. She can’t stop thinking of the guy in the hoodie, feeling as if this was a momentous occasion – that she’ll see him again somehow. Michelle never allowed herself to believe in miracles, knowing that everything that’s happened in life is owed to a course mapped out from the universe. 

And yet.

The man she saw across the way pulled a string in her heart that she didn’t even know existed until his familiar presence was gone, like a flash of light, and Michelle’s eyes begin to drift to the distant and seemingly endless tunnels of New York City’s rusty train tracks. 

“Well, he sounds like a fucking creep,” Cindy’s eyebrows appear permanently furrowed in frustration after Michelle gives her the rundown on her suspicions about Beck. “But it also seems like white dudes telling other white dudes to boss around their new hires.”

Michelle sighs, knowing what Cindy’s assuming is valid–that there’s nothing suspicious about the way their company is running, knowing most businesses are inundated with outdated forms of communication and power. Still, there’s something in her, whispering in her ears to look for more. Of what, Michelle didn’t know, but she wanted to find it – already adding it onto the list of her tasks for the week, on top of finishing the last issue before the deadline.

“You’re right,” Michelle sighs. “I just–I don’t know. Something feels weird. Maybe I’ve just been too immersed in my work, and I’m mixing it up with reality or something.”

Cindy edges closer to Michelle from the opposite side of their couch, pausing their cheesy, romantic comedy for Friday night’s tradition. It’s a new one that began once the two admitted their days in clubs and bars were over, and it’s Michelle’s favorite by far. “Chelle, I think you’re just refusing to believe how much of a hard worker you are. And how much you deserve this assignment. You’re _talented_.”

“Cindy, please,” Michelle fights the blush tiptoeing across her cheekbones. “It’s not that…”

(Which isn’t exactly a lie).

“Then what is it, Chelle?” Cindy tilts her head, propping her feet softly on top of Michelle’s crisscrossed legs. 

Michelle pulls her head back, resting it slowly against their couch. “I don’t know. I give up. I think I need to relax.”

Cindy nods insistently, “Tell me about it. I finally finished my Funding Proposal presentation, and I have to practice all weekend for my meeting with the Vice-Chancellor of Student Affairs on Monday.”

“We both need a hot bath and eight hours of deserved sleep,” Michelle says.

“More like twelve hours.” They burst into laughter as they prepare to clean the living room to prepare for a long night in. Michelle already knows she’ll be staying up tonight. She can rarely sleep early on a Friday night, much less with an important project due in the near future. 

After her Cindy-approved hot bath, Michelle wraps a towel around her hair, sticking on a sheet mask on her face and mentally debating whether or not she should break open her second glass of wine for the night–only for the moonlight seeping through the window of her room to distract her. Michelle makes her way to the fire escape, crawling through the window and watching her street lights flicker. For a city that never sleeps, her neighborhood is eerily quiet.

The buzz of Moscato lingers in her head as she observes the silhouette of a man limping down the street, the lampposts exposing his injuries. He moves slowly, catching up to another post just to place his hands on it and catch his breath. He’s hurt badly, Michelle observes, leaning closer over the rail–a sense of Deja-vu vibrating across her body. As soon as the guy leans against the pole, she’s taken back to her commute home with Ned.

Subway station guy. It’s him. 

The glass of wine in her hand slips, falling and breaking from its fall from Michelle’s third-story apartment. Hoodie guy’s reactions are almost innate, like he’d sensed them from a mile away. He looks up at Michelle’s window, her body paralyzed in fear of being caught watching him. When he approaches the beginning of her fire escape, nothing urges Michelle to walk away, to shut the window, and close the drapes and call it a night. 

Something is pulling her to this man. Something important.

“I need your help,” the man—voice cracking with a pinch of hopefulness and immense exhaustion—croaks from below.

* * *

Peter uses the remainder of his night’s energy to shake off his fears of sounding like a murderer, already feeling sick to his stomach that he has to ask a stranger for shelter in a world that looks and feels completely different from the one he’s usually in. 

New York City looks different. Mysterio did something to him–put him somewhere he needed to get out. It’s hard to get out of a place that’s supposed to feel like home, but nothing feels… real. The streets are the same, but dirtier, even if Peter didn’t think that could be possible. 

The striking pain he’s felt since he escaped the abandoned station keeps reverberating in his ribs, Peter having to stop every few blocks to rest his body on his search for any familiar place. Curse Kevin for putting up a fight–the kidnapper being transported in whatever tunnel Mysterio triggered when he walked away, only for his confusion to exceed Peter’s as both of them came to their senses. 

Kevin threw Peter’s body against the wall once he shimmied his way out of the chair, a surprise attack bruising Peter’s body in ways too familiar to be distracted by. Luckily, Peter finally remembered he developed, manufactured, and constantly updated web-shooters that are _literally_ always on his wrists and used them for victory. 

After scanning his surroundings, Peter grabbed his mask off, tucking it into a pocket. He glanced down at his suit, clicking the button on his chest to release it. There had to be abandoned clothes somewhere–he would have rather smelled like subway station clothes than walk around naked and threatening.

His hopes are answered as he finds a pair of loose jeans tucked in the corner. He dusted them off with disgust, sliding into them. They were tight, but he could make do. Giving up on finding a top, he webbed Kevin’s wrists to the floor after peeling his own hoodie off. 

_Come on, Peter. You're desperate. It’s fine._

Once he escaped, he felt the adrenaline dwindle away, only to walk out of the empty station and into a bustling waiting area. He leaned against the column, trying his best to ignore the collection of germs he’s building from however long he’s been in this… place. There was no doubt Peter felt strange–especially when he accidentally matched glimpses with a woman from across the station. His heart stopped in a way that it never had as if Peter saw the North Star and needed to follow it. 

But after the train zoomed away, she disappeared.

Until he found her on her fire escape again that night, in a window sitting in the same exact location his own apartment building would be if he were where he should be. All of the connections in Peter’s head are beginning to build up, fear brewing in his gut knowing that the situation he’s gotten himself into–the one that Mysterio dragged him into–is bigger than anything he’s ever solved before. 

She coughs. “You haven’t really said anything. Are you good?”

“What?” he blinks. She snorts, a sign that maybe Peter doesn’t look like a creep right now. 

“I asked what you needed help with. And you stared at me. But you’re kind of in pain, so… I guess I understand.”

Her honesty makes him laugh, something that Peter needs for as out of it as he is right now, knowing that he’s not completely in his state of mind after literally being transported in a different… universe? Plane of existence? Story? 

He shrugs. “Can I… can I come in?”

“Are you a murderer?” she crosses her arms, stern, leaving Peter a bit intrigued and cautious all at once. 

“No, I’m–it’s complicated. I’m… not from here.”

“Jersey?” she asks.

“No.”

“Boston?”

“No… I–”

“Philly. Your cheesesteaks are good,” she says. 

“Can I just come in?” he gives up his sputtering and shouts, “I feel like I’m in a Shakespeare play or something.”

“That was a good joke,” she comments. “Come on up.”

* * *

Michelle has no idea what she’s doing, feeling completely out of her mind for letting a stranger come into her bedroom as if she’s met him before. The thing is, there’s something about him–the way he speaks, his subtle humor. She knows him. She feels it.

That, or Michelle’s about to walk herself into an awful situation because she works way too much, confusing her realities as if there’s only a small thread tying it together. She leans back into her room to allow the guy to make his way inside. Her heart is racing, but as soon as his face is revealed in the light, Michelle’s chest stops functioning altogether.

“You… you’re not…” she stammers, nearly stumbling over her own two feet, backward before the guy quickly catches her with one swift move of his hand. “What the fuck? What the fuck?”

Michelle freaks out, grabbing her body away from his clutches. This isn’t real. This is way beyond her imagination–this is a punishment for not knowing how to finish the story arc. She’s going to close her eyes for five _long_ seconds and open them again. She’ll be back in the bathroom shower, snapped away from a daydream that she’s made up for herself while showering.

_One._

_Two._

_Three._

_Three._

_Three, again, right?_

“Excuse me, ma’am?” he breaks the silence. 

Michelle squeals again, calming down and removing all emotions from the tone of her voice before she says, “You interrupted my counting.”

“You were just standing there. I was concerned.”

“You’re the stranger here, stranger!” she throws her hands up, pacing around her room, not knowing where to start with the endless stream of questions that are scrolling through her mind at full speed. Despite her earlier suspicions being confirmed–the hunch Michelle was too afraid to admit–the person in front of her is not who she thinks it is– _can’t_ be. 

_He_ can’t be.

Peter Parker isn’t real.

But why is he standing there, in front of her–bruised, bloodied, and scarred–asking for help?

* * *

“I can explain,” he says, a cautious air around him. He can’t mess this up–the woman in front of her already suspicious, fierce, and ready to fight–as she should. “Like I said… I’m not from here. And I don’t know how to get back. I’m… I don’t know where to start. Let me just–”

“I know you,” she interrupts him.

“You do?” Peter is taken aback, breathless. “How?”

“I… you’re well known around here.”

“I am?”

“Yup.”

“How?”

“New York City loves you.”

“Okay,” he accepts. Maybe Peter does exist here, where Mysterio took him. But whoever this woman is mentioning, is not who she thinks he is. “Well, I don’t know you.”

“You don’t need to.”

“...”

“But I’m Michelle Jones.”

“Oh. Hi. I’m–”

“Peter Parker.”

Peter blinks, swallowing in a desperate attempt for cohesion. “Yeah...wh–”

“And you need my help.”

“I do, Michelle Jones,” he smiles weakly, his hands still pressed against his ribs as one last fight to endure the pain that’s sending him back to his 16-year-old days fighting off bulky, angry criminals without studying his technology first. “Can I ask you something first, before we explain what the fuck is going on to each other?”

She raises her eyebrows, a smirk of confusion and allure that makes Peter’s heart thump thump thump. “Lay it on me, Parker.”

“Are you seeing spots around you or is it just me?” Peter confesses, head spinning in circles and feeling heavier, just as he collapses on the floor, seeing a slow gradient of darkness take over his view before the world goes black again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is happening - I don't know, don't ask me! 
> 
> Let's talk about Spideychelle on Tumblr (@spideysmjs). 
> 
> Happy Sunday, friends!


	3. swingin' at sunset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *pats fanfic on the back* go get em, tiger.
> 
> Enjoy this new chapter, friends!

**SATURDAY, 6 DAYS BEFORE THE DEADLINE.** **  
****8:21 AM AT THE JONES-MOON RESIDENCE.**

Michelle jolts up from her bed, the sunlight blinding her eyes from the window left unopened – a chaotic dream already fading into an unretrievable memory causing her to wake up immediately. Her hands pat down on her mattress, looking for an anchor of reality because she sure as hell feels its lines blurring with fiction’s.

To her left, sheets left disheveled, like someone had been there and snuck away, out the window and into the already crowded city streets. 

She doesn’t believe it – she _can’t_ believe it. Because Peter Parker was _not_ here last night. He did _not_ collapse in front of Michelle, and she didn’t slap him awake. 

A dream, Michelle tells herself. A dream, a dream, a dream. Moscato _does_ have the tendency to make her brain think convoluted plots.

All of this is just one, big nightmare that will somewhat break her writer’s block. She stretches her arms out, shuts her eyes, and yawns herself awake, tears forming in her eyes from remembering how much she missed getting a full night’s sleep despite the fact that her mind can no longer differentiate her career from her normal life. 

She plops back down on her mattress, turning over to her side table to reach her phone, only for her heart to stop at the red and blue mask strewn next to her empty wine glass.

“CINDY,” she yells out at the top of her lungs, repeating her roommate's name, getting louder with each call. “ _CINDY!_ ”

Quickly enough, Cindy stumbles into Michelle’s room dressed in her silk nightgown, a metal bat gripped in her hands. “DON’T MESS WITH MY ROOMMATE, YOU MURDERER!!!!”

Her spike of energy deflates slowly as Michelle offers a weak smile despite her face still being painted with concern. Michelle takes a deep breath before she offers, “Cind, you have to promise me you won’t think I’m lying.”

Cindy scans the room, her eyes moving from Michelle’s bed to the open window. “You’re freaking me out, ‘Chelle… What happened?” 

Michelle tosses the mask to Cindy. 

Cindy stretches it out and plays with the lenses. “This looks like expensive Spider-Man merchandise. Did you steal from Bugle? Are you trying to tell me you’ve started a life of crime?”

“No–Cind–I… I don’t even know where to begin,” Michelle sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose, patting her bed and beckoning her roommate to come over. “It all started at the subway station with Ned.”

* * *

**TIME UNKNOWN.**

The pounding in his head wakes Peter up before anything else, jolting up as far as he can from his seat and immediately panicking when he discovers that he’s chained up next to his kidnapper, who’s towering over him as he stands guard.

Peter blinks as he mumbles, “What the hell?”

“No talking,” the kidnapper hissed. Peter scans the area, realizing he’s returned to the very same area he’d been at before he ended up at the golden-colored station. It’s as if he’d traveled back in time, noticing the chains still tied around him. 

Either this is an extreme case of Deja Vu, or Mysterio is pulling something grander than what Peter had initially assumed. He inhales the musty scent of the room, tracking the events of last night knowing damn well it was real. At least, it _felt_ real, Peter’s stomach churning with fear that he’d been pulled into one of Mysterio’s illusions – one of his mind games that are replayed over and over again until Peter finally gives up.

He won’t give up though, not when the extreme pain he’d gotten from fighting Kevin at the golden station had subsided miraculously, even for someone with advanced healing. 

It’s like it never happened. 

But it did. It _did_ happen, he repeats to himself. 

Michelle, he remembers. Michelle Jones. 

He met her at her window last night as he roamed the familiar streets of his own neighborhood in a strange, shifted version of New York City. 

And she knew him. 

_“You’re well-known around here,”_ Michelle said. “ _New York City loves you."_

He had never seen her before, nor found her face familiar, but the moment she introduced herself, something inside Peter’s brain clicked, like his neurotransmitters were trying to connect dots that he didn’t know existed. It was like hearing her name sparked something in Peter, urging him to tell her everything – from his origins to his losses, from his celebrations to his grievances. But at the same time, Peter felt as if she already knew everything.

Before he had a chance to say something, he collapsed in front of her, bruises and blood painted all over her skin. 

The next time he woke up, Michelle had sat him upright against the foot of her bed, a warm, damp towel pressing gently on his head. There was not one exchange of words, Peter catching Michelle’s soft gaze on him before witnessing her lips curl into a nervous, toothless smile. 

He returned the grin, trying his best to ease his own pain as she attempted to nurse him back to strength. He said, “Thanks. For–uh–helping out a stranger.”

She let a small breath out before saying, “Your body is really dense. It was kind of hard to move you.”

Peter blushed. “Sorry.”

“No,” her stuttering voice overlapped his apology. “It’s–it’s okay.”

She finished cleaning up the dry blood on his cheekbones, dropping the towel on the floor of her bedroom. Peter watched her, satisfied by the way she sorted through what looked like a makeshift emergency kit from under her bed, grabbing rubbing alcohol and bandaids with shaking hands. He laughed, a quiet and soft thing, knowing that Michelle had probably never experienced anything like this in her life – wondering if what goes on in his world happened in hers. 

“So–”

“Do you–”

They both blushed. Peter felt silly for how nervous he was to talk to Michelle, knowing that he had just met her, but familiarity was gnawing at him from the inside of his stomach. Their eyes met again, Michelle urging Peter to talk first. 

“I don’t know what questions to even ask,” he said. “I just ended up at this subway station that I’d never seen before. I think I saw you there.”

(He _knew_ he saw her there).

“I think so, too,” she answered. “Do you know how you got here?”

“No clue,” he sighed. “I was locked in some chair after getting kidnapped, Mysterio told me he knew who I was, asked me to explain myself, and then…” Peter’s sentence faded away as he witnessed Michelle’s eyes widen in what looked like fear. “What?”

“Nothing,” she said, though Peter could tell she was keeping something from him, forgiving her because she’d already done so much for him in the span of a few hours. “Then what happened?”

A beat. Peter glanced on the floor, hoping he didn’t leave any bloodstains on her carpet. “Then I ended up here. Wherever here is.”

He fiddled with his own fingers, taking a peek at Michelle who looked dumbfounded. Her reaction was fair, Peter knowing his explanation didn’t truly explain _anything_ , but he was trying his best.

He had no clue what to make of it, either. 

“Right,” she whispered. Then, she yawned. “Look… I’ve had a long day, and it’s… it’s really hard to wrap my mind around this–around you… being here. It doesn’t feel…” 

“Real?” he completed her sentence. Michelle nodded, sucking in her lips in defeat. Silence fell between them again, a comfortable feeling settled in his stomach even though nothing comfortable had happened to Peter from the moment he just… showed up. 

“Yeah, real.” 

“I get it. Maybe we should just get some rest,” he suggested. From his offer, Michelle lifted herself from the floor, extending a hand to help him up. He accepted, stretching his arms to ease the pain, the bones in his back cracking, finally feeling the exhaustion weigh him down. 

Peter was tired. He’d been tired for longer than he’d like to admit. 

“You can sleep in my bed, I don’t mind sharing space.”

Despite all that he’s experienced in the superhero gig, he still has yet to understand how to handle the butterflies that were traveling at 100 miles per hour in his stomach. “Oh, okay. Sure. Yeah, that’s cool. Awesome.”

Michelle’s chuckle made the wings spaz out even more. God, how embarrassing. But her one-word, two-syllable response eased his embarrassment. “Awesome.”

In her bed, Michelle wasn’t hesitant to face him – to ask him more questions about his life and experiences. It had felt like an interview, but all Peter wanted to do was tell her everything: the spider-bite, his first enemy, the pains of realizing that underneath the mask, he was still human. And she listened. 

It felt nice – being taken care of and heard by someone who wasn’t trying to get something out of it. 

Peter felt safe with Michelle. 

He watched her through the night, unable to sleep as his mind came up with hundreds of explanations and potential outcomes all at once, while at the same time watching Michelle’s mouth open wide as she snored. 

He took the time to really look at her, to look at the way the moonlight from the open window made her brown skin glow or the way her long, curly hair sprawled out perfectly on her pillow. He wanted to memorize how she looked like, how each freckle on her face seemed hidden until you really noticed them.

Michelle’s eyes opened again, a small apology coming out of her mouth for not being able to stay up as late as Peter could. 

He hushed her, one hand moving the loose strands of hair out of her face as he watched her fall into a deep slumber, her last words uttered so quietly that if Peter didn’t have powers, he might not have heard Michelle whisper, “I can’t believe you’re real.”

* * *

**SATURDAY AT THE JONES-MOON RESIDENCE**

It’s embarrassing – the way Cindy now maneuvers around Michelle cautiously after the morning she had. Apparently, a very expensive-looking Spider-Man mask hadn’t been enough proof to convince Cindy that Peter Parker was real and that he was in Michelle’s bedroom the night before. 

That morning, Cindy uttered what sounded like an infinite number of explanations, ranging from lucid dreaming to suggesting Michelle should lay off alcohol until she meets the Bugle’s deadline for the new issue. Michelle knows it’s inexplicable and ridiculous, but she still has feelings, feelings that Cindy knows are delicate after being friends throughout college. 

If Cindy doesn’t believe her, Michelle has no idea who will. She’s not close enough to Leeds to feel comfortable about sounding like a bumbling mess of words just yet, and she knows her brother, Jason, will accuse her of being too immersed in work. 

She still shoots Jason a just-in-case text before finishing her sad excuse of a brunch: two pieces of toast slathered in too much peanut butter. After cleaning up after herself, she sneaks out of the apartment without a word – still thrown off by the way Cindy had reacted, still planning on somehow proving to her roommate that she isn’t imagining things. 

The commute to the office feels longer, Michelle being hyper-aware of her surroundings, wondering if Peter will show up again at the station, and (if he does) what Michelle will do to try to help him figure out what he needs to get done before she concludes his eventual story arc. After all, she does have a plan–The Ultimate Plan–for Peter, one vivid idea that floats through her head and somehow doesn’t translate onto paper when she tries to jot it down. 

Peter and Michelle had stayed up all night, Michelle asking as many questions as she could for inspiration, only for her to wake up in the morning and feel guilty for basically taking advantage of what he’s going through as a way to find clarity in her writer’s block. He had only told her things she already knew, but Michelle couldn’t help but become immersed in his storytelling – the way his eyes lit up when he talked about his Aunt May and Uncle Ben. Each answer he’d given Michelle only drenched her in guilt that carried over in the morning when she woke up. 

As she sits in the subway, Michelle repeats to herself that, although she’s certain seeing Peter Parker in the flesh last night isn’t a figment of her imagination, Peter Parker is still a fictional character. He still has his story written out for him on a bi-weekly basis, with this week just so happening to be his final issue and Michelle just so happening to be at the hands of his fate. 

When the train opens up its doors to her usual exit, she sighs and decides that maybe it is better if Peter doesn’t come back, even though she wants so badly to prove to herself and Cindy that last night truly happened. Because if Peter does show up again, Michelle will soon find it in her heart to want him to stay. 

**SATURDAY, 2PM AT BUGLE COMICS**

The fourth floor is quiet, appropriately so for a Saturday afternoon. 

Michelle tosses her bag on her desk, sighing at the long day ahead, making a note that her salary pay needs to be higher considering how much time she devotes to this damn company. As she opens up her sketch pad and past outlines, her wishes to satisfy Jameson and potentially earn more funding for their department grow stronger. 

She’s determined.  
  


**IDEAS:**

  * Mysterio wins. Villains should never win, Michelle.
  * New character 
    * A new Spider-Man?
    * Opportunity to tell a unique story????
    * Peter Parker as a mentor?? 
      * Is he ready to be a mentor?
      * Maybe he is just tired
    * The torch is passed as Peter is on his deathbed
    * WHO IS THE NEW CHARACTER?
  * _Miles Morales ----_
  * WAIT A MINUTE - How do old Spidey and new Spidey find each other? How are they connected?
  * ***RESEARCH SPIDEY VILLAINS FOR POTENTIAL CONNECTIONS***



Her fingers drum against the wooden desk, chin resting on her other hand. Michelle grabs her phone and hovers over the one name who can help her find all the information she needs at Bugle. Swallowing both her pride of not wanting assistance with the assignment and her hesitation of getting closer to people, she calls Ned Leeds.

“Hey, what’s up, Michelle?” Ned answers, his tone of voice so casual in a way that allows Michelle to trust him a little more, especially after spending overtime with him the day before. 

“Where can I find an abridged history of Spider-Man villains?” she asks.

“Oh,” he hums. “It’d be on the ground floor of the office. The floor beneath the lobby. But you need to put in a request to Harrington to access it on Monday when we go in.”

“What if…” Michelle’s voice lingers, debating if she’s willing to admit to Ned that her life clearly only revolves around work. “What if I’m already in office?”

“Uhhhhhh.”

“Is there some kind of digital file you can send?” she tries, remembering Ned’s computer knowledge. 

“I don’t have much, but I can give you what I’ve collected since working? It’s not nearly extensive, but… it’s a start.”

“Thanks, Leeds. This’ll help with the block.”

“How’s it going? You need any help?” 

“I think I’m good for now,” Michelle half-lies, knowing that she _has_ made progress, but her motivation for accessing the Bugle database is split between two goals – one of which Ned will never believe. 

“Ok,” he accepts. “But if you need any help, with anything… tell me, okay? I’m here for you, Michelle.”

Her heart softens at Ned’s statement, especially knowing that from the short time she’s been around, Michelle’s finally breaking barriers and somewhat making friends. “Thanks.”

It’s a start.

Her email notification makes a _woosh_ , Michelle running to the screen and connecting it to a bigger monitor for more detailed research. To no surprise, Ned’s organized his personal archives meticulously, helping Michelle easily access the Villain Archives. 

  * _GREEN GOBLIN_
  * _THE VULTURE_
  * _THE PROWLER_
  * _MYSTERIO_



Michelle purses her lips, heavy anxiety rising in her chest as if she has to scan the room to make sure no one’s watching her procrastinate. She excuses herself this time around in the guise of an emergency – she has to be prepared just in case Peter Parker crawls through her window again… right?

Peter confessed to her the last moments he remembered, Michelle immediately connecting it to the last issue that was released to the public despite not letting him know. It was a cliffhanger, Mysterio revealing that he’d known Spider-Man’s identity – a scene that created a buzz in the comic community. A scene that led to Michelle’s assignment of the last issue, an assignment that J. Jonah Jameson apparently believes she’s capable of accomplishing.

Almost automatically, she clicks into the Mysterio tab, researching powers and motives, wins and losses, connections with other Spider-Man villains, and even Spider-Man allies. With the information she has, maybe she can find something that can put Peter at an advantage – if he does show up again. 

He probably won’t, Michelle tries to convince herself. It was a one-off – maybe it was a moment where her reality felt blurred. 

“Former Stark Industries worker,” she mumbles, reading up on his Past Careers. “Interesting.” 

But right before she can extend her research into the relationship Mysterio had with Tony Stark, Michelle hears muffled voices almost shouting at each other. 

“YOU’RE COSTING ME MY FLAGSHIP HERO, BECK!” Michelle eavesdrop.

Jameson is already in the city? It’s not possible. At the meeting, the storyboard team was informed he’d be arriving after the submission of the last issue. Unless… Beck lied to them. 

But why? 

She leaves her desk and laptop, tiptoeing to the door that leads to the main hallway, pressing her ear carefully.

Jameson continues, “YOU HAVEN’T EVEN BEEN HERE A YEAR, AND YET YOU ACT LIKE YOU KNOW IT ALL ABOUT SPIDER-MAN?”

Casually, Beck reassures Jameson. “You have no idea how much I know, Jameson. This is a good idea. It will open doors for your company - for everyone…” 

“THIS OUGHTTA BE GOOD OR ELSE–”

“Listen to me.” Beck sounds stern, speaking to Jameson in a tone of voice Michelle would never dare to speak to the very CEO of their company. She swallows, bracing herself for what she’s about to find out. “This needs to be done by the deadline. We assigned Michelle Jones this story. She’s the perfect contender… she was made for this issue.”

And suddenly, Michelle’s heart sinks as Jameson admits, “Whoever she is, she better impress me! I don’t usually allow newbies to be given tasks, but you seem to be calling all the shots around here.”

Of _course_ Jameson doesn’t know who she is. 

Michelle pretends to not notice the tears welling up in her eyes.

“Let me call the shots this one time, or you’ll regret it.” Her stomach drops almost lower than her heart like an anchor has been tied to her body and there’s no way of finding the surface, of finding the clarity she’s been trying to reach. 

She sneaks back to her desk, popping in headphones and pretending to be swamped in her sketchbook as she creates noise, so both Beck and Jameson know there’s someone else in the building. Michelle increases the volume of her music. 

Not long after, Beck opens the doors to the fourth floor tapping her on the shoulder as she pretends to be startled. After removing her headphones and ensuring that Beck notices the max volume of her headphones, Michelle says, “Mr. Beck! I didn’t even know you walked in.”

“Working hard or hardly working?” he jokes, painting a charming smile that Michelle doesn’t dare let fool her. “How’s the next issue like? Any new developments?”

“You did say his ending had to be legendary,” she says cautiously. “I thought, maybe killing him off could–”

“That’s perfect,” he says with a specific tone – like he’d been hoping for this. Michelle doesn’t mention the creation of a new Spider-Man – doesn’t dare mention Miles Morales at all. 

“I’m just doing research to see how it can be done,” she says, sucking in her lips before saying, “You know, I think Mysterio is the perfect villain to do this.”

Beck’s eyebrows raise, quickly pulling another office chair and sitting with the front of his body leaning against the back of the chair. 

Men are so obnoxious. But Beck might be more deserving of a harsher word.

“I think that’s a great idea! Go for it. All the creative freedom in the world you have! Jameson–he trusts you.”

Liar. But all she does is smile and say, “But you know, I’m a little stuck. Since villains can never really win, you know? So, I haven’t decided how to continue the cliffhanger from the issue.”

Beck blinks – he’s at a loss for words. Suddenly, he nearly falls over the chair, blinking rapidly as he stands up, trying to find balance. Quickly he explains, “I’ve had a migraine all day. I should go home – too much work is never good, kid.”

Michelle does her best to hold her eye roll and instead says, “You’re right. I should go too.”

She quickly gathers her things, watching the beads of sweat in the corner of Beck’s face increase. He looks like he’s in pain, his hand pressed against his abdomen as they exit the storyboard room. He rushes to the elevator quickly, Michelle catching up to his speed and making sure to not lose track of him despite. 

They head to the station together in silence, Beck always a few steps ahead of her, Michelle catching each moment he looks back to see if she’s still there. 

She needs to tell Ned. As soon as she grabs her phone from her pocket, he books it down the stairs and into the subway station. Michelle weaves through the crowd, her heart racing at the risk she’s going to take knowing that she’s on the edge of a new discovery – ready to feel validated at the hunch that’s been creeping up her spine since eavesdropping on Beck threatening Jameson.

Michelle follows Beck’s direction from a distance, making sure he doesn’t notice she’s there as she witnesses him slip into a restricted area with ease. She scans the crowded station for security guards, leaning against the wall before following Beck’s footsteps. 

The restricted area is empty, save for a tunnel that leads into an eerie pit of darkness that Michelle isn’t sure she should risk her life entering. The walls are golden but decorated with intricate graffiti and cobwebs. There’s trash and abandoned clothes on the floor – a large pair of jeans tucked in the corner. She’s not sure what to do now… 

Michelle’s not a detective. She isn’t cut out to figure out whatever the hell is connecting her world with Peter’s, only knowing that she has the goal of finishing his story arc and getting this entire assignment over with so she can put it behind her. 

Just as she’s about to walk away and abandon the search, the ground begins to shake and a flash of light nearly knocks her over. She finds balance against the gate but witnesses an event that almost feels miraculous. 

Spider-Man, in full hero regalia, swings out of the dark tunnel and lands perfectly on the ground. His lenses widen, panicking as he shouts, “Michelle! What are you doing?! We need to get out! They’re right behind me!”

“Who!?” she yells, rushing over to Spider-Man.

“No time to explain,” he says, hesitating to put his arms around her waist. “Uh–do you trust me?”

“Yes,” she answers before she can think, her heart racing in a way that she’s never felt before, a mix of excitement from being in the arms of a superhero and the overwhelming feeling of being _right_.

And fear. A whole lot of fear that she doesn’t want to accept. 

He grips her waist, instructing her to wrap her legs around his waist. Without debate, she listens as he aims his web-shooters to the ceiling of the station. 

They launch upward, Michelle’s grip around his body getting tighter and tighter – hoping that she doesn’t lose any of the things in her work bag. Spider-Man slips out and into the public crowd as adrenaline courses through her body, causing her to shut her eyes quickly, not knowing that if she had left them open, she would see Quentin Beck dressed in a maroon cape and decorative weapons, dropping in frustration. 

Spider-Man webbing through the station, landing on the concrete, and sneaking up the stairs with ease causes disruption and chaos at the station, Michelle hearing the shutter of cameras and audible gasps of passersby. She tucks her face into his neck, hoping that no one catches the sight of her, though now she feels the need to brag to Cindy that she had been right all along.

When they reach the top of the stairs, Peter says, “I’m going to swing again.”

“O–” before she agrees, she starts screaming as they shoot into the sky. Michelle screeches at the top of her lungs, refusing to look at how high off the ground they are. She’s read panels like this before, Peter Parker swinging between New York City’s skyscrapers as citizens watch in awe. Her screams become quieter, Michelle suddenly feeling more aware of how strong Peter is, being able to hold her securely and swing on one arm. 

His arms wrapped around her waist and her legs wrapped around his proves his strength. She gets used to the elevation and sinks into his body.

Michelle feels safe with Peter. 

Finally, Peter swings in an alley and drops them both carefully on the ground. Her hair is frizzy, the wind knocking it in different directions. She sighs in relief, leaning against the brick wall of a building as she sinks to the ground. “I never want to do that again.”

“Okay,” Peter says. “Uh-sorry. I just… they were chasing and–”

“Who?”

“Mysterio! And Kevin, but he doesn’t matter that much.”

“Mysterio?” she repeats. Peter nods, scanning the alley before removing his mask. His cuts and bruises look familiar. They look exactly how it was sketched out in the previous issue.

“He knows who I am. Like, my secret identity,” he paces back and forth. “And the weirdest thing is…God, you’re gonna think I’m making this up.”

“Trust me,” she says, still planted to the ground. “I won’t.”

“I just… I experienced the same exact thing. I was back in chains like I never escaped. But then I felt weird because… because I met you, and I knew that was real. It had to be.”

“Peter,” she whispers as he continues to panic.

“When Mysterio came in, I just booked it and ran into him, and then I came back to the tunnel! And saw you. But I don’t know how much time I have until it might reset.”

“Peter.”

“And I swear, it feels like I don’t know what to do, and I hate it. I always have a plan.”

“ _Peter!”_

He stops and looks at her. “What?”

“I have to tell you something.”

“Okay…” he says, dropping down to sit next to her on the ground. “What is it?”

“Now it’s your turn to think I’m making things up,” she sighs, closing her eyes. She feels Peter's hand rest on top of hers, squeezing it. 

“I won’t.”

“I’m a comic book writer.”

“What?”

“You’re a fictional character.”

“...”

“You don’t exist as a hero here. You exist in stories. And I’m writing it.” She turns to Peter, who looks frozen in time, his eyes expecting a further explanation. “The kidnapping thing? Mysterio knowing who you are? It was written in a comic book. It’s–it’s…”

She feels herself tripping over her words, stuttering profusely in fear that Peter won’t trust her. He says, “Okay…” 

“It’s a cliffhanger. And there’s an issue deadline next Friday that I’m supposed to write. But I’ve been at a block, and I think… I think that’s why you keep got sent back.”

“Okay,” he accepts. “Okay, okay… So you just have to keep writing then. So I can stay here, and we can beat Mysterio. Easy. Wow, I’m so smart.”

Michelle doesn’t dare tell Peter what she plans to do with his existence because his eyes light up in a way that makes her heart swell, almost convincing herself to write an entirely different ending that she’s planned. 

“Sure,” she says. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s… that’s what I’m planning to do, Pete.”

He grins at her nickname for him. “Now, we just have to see _how_ Mysterio has access to this portal. Maybe old connections or equipment that’s lying around. Do you know where we can find that information?”

“The office,” she says, but remembers that there are outlines and sketches posted on the walls that reveal Peter’s anticipated death. “But it’s–uh, it’s closed. It’s the weekend.”

“Damn,” he says. Michelle grabs her phone and looks at the messages. 

**Jason:** Sorry late reply had a long day at work - is everything ok chelle

 **Ned Leeds:** Hows Spidey going? Need help??

She taps out a reply to both of them, giving Leeds her address as she instructs them to come to her apartment. As a consolation, she offers, “But I know some people that can help.”

Peter sighs in relief, jumping up with determined vigor as he offers a hand. “Let’s go, then.”

She looks at the red and blue gloved hand, the web-shooter locked around his wrist. Her eyes travel along his defined arms until she finds his soft gaze. 

Her chest feels tight, a siren in her brain going off like there’s something that she’s missing, something that explains why she feels so linked to Peter. 

Michelle grabs his hand, Peter pulling her up and against his body once again. She denies the butterflies forming in her gut. And despite stating she refuses to launch herself in the sky, the two of them are soaring through the city as the sun begins to go down, lights flickering on and preparing for a very long evening ahead of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! Any theories? Do you like it? What the hell is going onnnnn? 
> 
> Also, you're more than welcome to follow me on [Tumblr](https://spideysmjs.tumblr.com), but I am taking a quick little break from it right now. 
> 
> Kudos/comments appreciated! I love y'all, friends - stay safe and well. ♥


	4. c-c-caffeine

**SUNDAY, 5 DAYS BEFORE THE DEADLINE** **  
****A LONG WAYS PAST MIDNIGHT AT THE JONES-MOON RESIDENCE**

Peter’s running on fumes, gulping down his third cup of coffee for the night, his entire body vibrating from caffeine and anxiety. He paces back and forth around Michelle’s apartment on any surface he finds himself sticking to, his thoughts taking him on a loop every hour, wondering what it would be like to live in this world as his true self, and not the “fictional” character everyone knows him for.

The shock from this revelation came quietly after his adrenaline slowed down from traveling across whatever dimensional portal Mysterio discovered, escaping the subway tunnels, and swinging through the sky with Michelle. 

_Michelle_ , he thinks – smiling as he stares at her from the ceiling, her head buried in her arms. She’d fallen asleep clacking away at her laptop, their initial plan for her to keep her storyline going so Peter can stay in her universe longer had dwindled down as the night went on. 

There’s something about Michelle, something that’s tucked away in Peter’s brain like a piece of information missing from everything he’s ever learned. The moment Peter saw her, a spark ignited within him. But he has yet to discover what it is - what it _could even be_ knowing that they’re from two completely different worlds. 

Peter almost forgets she brought company over – her brother and co-worker – who are both fighting for space on the couch, drowning in each other’s snoring. He chuckles, remembering their reactions just mere hours ago. 

Jason was the first to see Peter, caught mid-sentence as he answered Michelle’s question about the most painful battle he’s fought in his entire career so far. 

“The most painful battles are the ones where the people you love are involved,” he had explained, the ghost of his memories haunting him as he remembered the unfortunate demise of his best friend’s father, Norman Osborn. “My best friend, Harry, died because of me. A lot of people do.”

“Peter,” Michelle whispered from the table, looking up as he stretched his arms behind him, focusing on his breathing so he wouldn’t cry. He didn’t have time to cry; they were running out of time. “You save hundreds of people.”

“I guess.” He stretched his arms, pushing himself off the ceiling and flipping into a perfect landing as he continued, “But that doesn’t mean I forget about the lives I _couldn’t_ save.”

A sudden crash of books shook the floor, both Peter and Michelle quickly turning to see the door before she rushed over to who Peter assumed was her brother. Jason stood in the doorway, the box of comic books Michelle asked him to now familiar with the musty wooden flooring. 

Jason stuttered, panicked, and nearly stumbled backward at the sight of Peter, dressed in Spider-Man gear sans-mask, waving at him. Michelle had explained Jason was a fanatic, and he had grown up with the comics, eventually inspired by Spider-Man to come out. It made Peter’s heart warm knowing that even just one person was incredibly influenced by him, a concept that – even in his own world – still surprised him. 

Peter was just a guy in a mask, lucky to have been bitten. 

He reminded himself that every day.

“Holy shit this is _not_ happening right now.” Jason rushed into the living room to greet Peter, leaving Michelle with the act of cleaning up the comic book, making Peter laugh. “When my sister said I wouldn’t believe this, I thought she was being dramatic.”

“Shut up, Jason,” she huffed from the ground, lifting the box and dropping it on the kitchen table. She dusted off her pants before joining the two, officially introducing them. “This is Peter Parker. From–um–”

“Queens,” Peter smirked. Michelle rolled her eyes playfully, and right into his heart as he nudged her and explained, “But not your Queens.”

“You’re–you’re _real_.” 

“Yeah, 100%,” he puffed his chest with what he thought was confidence.

Michelle snorted. “100% dork.”

“You can’t just call Spider-Man a _dork_!” Jason said, offering his hand as a greeting. “It’s nice to meet you. I have so many questions. Like so many. But–first–why are you here? What’s going on? What did my sister do?”

“I did nothing. It was Mysterio.” 

“The villain?” Jason gasped. “He’s real, too!?”

“Yup,” Peter said. “And his name is Quentin Beck.”

Jason scrunched his eyebrows at Michelle. “Wait, you told me last week that–”

“I did,” she said.

“So he’s–”

“The editor-in-chief of Bugle Comics.”

“Oh. My. God,” Jason walked over to the couch, planting himself in the corner. “This is… this is frightening and amazing all at once. There’s a real villain out here. In New York City. I can’t believe this.” He clutched his chest, taking deep breaths. “So do your web-shooters really work?”

Peter grinned with excitement as Michelle sighed, saying, “Okay, you get like, fifteen minutes of freaking out and asking Peter your questions before we get back into solving this.”

“Solving what?” a voice came from where Jason had entered, all three of them turned around. “Why is there a street performing Spider-Man in your apartment?”

“Ned,” Michelle smiled, her arm swinging around Peter’s like two puzzle pieces coming together. He felt warm as he leaned into her half-embrace. “Let me introduce you to my friend.”

Peter buzzed at her introduction, lifting his hand up nervously at her co-worker as he said, “I’m Peter. Parker.”

Ned nearly collapsed.

* * *

“Michelle,” someone whispers, a rapid and soft tapping on her shoulder stirs her in her sleep. She groans, keeping her head cradled in her folded arms. The voice, slightly louder, says, “Wake up.”

She grumbles, still in the same position.

“I think I found a clue,” he says, Michelle realizing it’d been Peter waking her up. She jolts upward, a deep breath piercing through her chest. Her throat is dry, dehydrated from the coffee overdose and her muscles ache from being swung around New York City. 

Her eyes blink rapidly as she tries to wake herself up, meeting a gaze with Peter, whose eyes glossed with a coat of exhaustion accompanied by dark circles. Michelle asks, “Have you been awake this entire time?” 

The oven clock reads 4:23 AM. 

Peter nods casually. 

He’s used to this – sleepless nights solving mysteries and villainous motives. The buzzing look on his face is no different than when Michelle makes a breakthrough with a storyline the night before a deadline when procrastination shifts from her worst enemy to her biggest ally, the creative juices only flowing as the time starts to run out. 

“What?” Peter asks, his nervous chuckle making the corner of Michelle’s own lips curl as she continues to stare at the superhero. 

“Nothing,” she says, her smile disappearing as quickly as it came, stretching her arms and yawning. “What did you figure out?” 

“I was looking through the archives Ned collected and,” he runs his hands through his now-flattened hair before twisting Ned’s laptop screen to Michelle, “Mysterio is– _was_ –a Stark Industries employee.”

She holds back from frowning knowing that she’d seen that piece of information already from the same files. Maybe Peter is connecting something that she can’t. He’s the one with firsthand experience, anyway. Michelle asks, “How did you go about making him _your_ enemy then?”

Peter frowns. “It was years ago, back when I barely started… News outlets were already against me, and then Mysterio showed up and tried to frame me as a villain by tricking me into one of his illusions.”

Mysterio _is_ one of the more popular villains. 

She refrains from telling Peter this, guilt tugging at her chest knowing that–despite her entire life believing Spider-Man was fiction–a lot of the pain that Peter’s experience was because of her job. Every hour Michelle spends with Peter, everything about him feels more _human_. His sweet laughter. The shadow on his face growing from the late hour. How he paces back and forth when he’s brainstorming. The blanket of safety she immediately feels when he’s around. The way Michelle’s hands begin to reach for his, hovering over his knuckles and pressing onto his skin like a magnet.

His grip on the edge of the kitchen table loosens from her touch. “But I never knew he was a Stark employee.”

“That information was never published,” Ned interrupts them, Michelle pulling her hand away and straightening her back against the kitchen chair, feeling caught. Peter tilts his head in curiosity, looking over to Ned, who gets up from the couch and joins them at the table. “My digital files are all of the brainstorming ideas we’ve ever created. Backstories of villains. Motives. Potential plots. That’s why I gave it to you earlier when you said you needed help.”

“Oh,” Peter breathes, Michelle avoiding all eye contact, feeling the energy of disappointment from the way Peter’s hands curl. He knows now that she’d known about his revelation. 

“I just didn’t know you needed help with... _this,_ ” Ned’s arms wave in the air surrounding Peter, “which by the way, still feels like a dream, dude.”

“Well, it’s pretty damn real,” Peter says, shoulders slumped. “I just can’t figure how. Or why. I’ve never felt so–”

“Stuck?” Michelle finishes his sentence with a word she’s felt all too familiar with for the past week.

“You are mid-issues,” Ned shrugs, pulling his laptop closer to him and clicking on the keyboard. “Maybe we need to publish the next copy for you to think of what to do.”

“I don’t think it works like that,” Michelle says. “Not exactly. I think if I just keep… writing… Peter will stay here. In this world.”

“That’s the plan we came up with,” Peter looks at Michelle, a deep grin. “I mean I haven’t disappeared.”

“So what? It’s just magic?” Ned scoffs. “There’s gotta be a technical explanation.”

“Well you figure it out, Mr. Computer Dude,” she quips, receiving a snort from Ned. 

Peter tucks his chair in, moving closer to Ned. “You’re into computers? That’s awesome, man. What do you know?”

“All kinds of coding. Hacking systems. Design, too.”

“What do you know about multi-dimensional portals?” 

“Uh–like–basically every theory that’s been published.”

Peter crosses his arms confidently. “What if I told you, in my world, they’re not just _theories_.”

“ _Dude_ ,” Ned’s eyes widen, a child-like look of excitement brushes across his face. “I had to do research on multi-dimensional travel to _storyboard_ some of the comics!”

“You’re basically like, the inventor of it then, yeah?” Peter nearly vibrates in his chair. 

Michelle can’t follow the conversation, both of them chit-chatting back and forth about the quantum realm, her brain still malfunctioning from chugging out an entire outline of the issue. The same outline with the same outcome she’d revealed in their storyboard meeting. Yet, when she logs back onto her laptop and rereads the plot she’d jotted down, she can’t help but feel like the real villain in Peter’s life.

But she can’t stop writing this. She’d already told Beck her plan, who probably told Jameson, and if she scraps this idea, she knows she’ll be fired – effective immediately. 

Her nerves are needles poking at her skin. She doesn’t even know what day it is anymore, hours passing as if time isn’t real. Her reality is blurring with fiction, and she hasn’t had the proper time to take it in. To weigh out the consequences of her options. To figure out if her job is worth losing for a superhero she didn’t know existed out of printed publications.

Yet, as she watches Peter and Ned’s minds collectively explode from space talk, something in Michelle’s heart is telling her that this is where she needs to be right now and that—maybe in some other universe away from the mess of hers and Peter’s—this is fueling the peace she feels as she continues to listen to both of them.

“You guys are losers,” she interrupts them. Both of the boys turn to her, Ned sticking his tongue out and Peter’s cheeks turning pink. 

“Losers that are going to figure out what’s linking our two worlds,” Ned huffs, shutting his laptop down. “I’m sorry we didn’t make any significant breakthroughs, Spider-Man.”

Peter shrugs. “I don’t know how much time we have until Mysterio does what he wants to do.”

The guilt finds its way back into Michelle’s brain again. She looks at Ned, who slides his laptop into his backpack with caution, eyes wide. Both Michelle and Ned know the answer. Instead, he says, “We’ll try to figure it out before then. Whenever it is.”

He gets up from his seat, Peter following suit and walking him to the door. Peter says, “Maybe I can take you to the portal entrance or something tomorrow.”

Ned yawns. “You mean later today?”

Peter runs his hands through his hair, an act that happens often, and each time it does. Even superheroes have strange habits, Michelle brushing away her intrusive thoughts as he says, “Yeah–uh–sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you up all night.”

“Spider-Man needs _my_ help,” Ned says, almost bragging. “How am I going to say no to that? This is the coolest thing that’s ever happened to me! I’m like… your Guy in Chair!”

Peter blinks. “My what?”

“You know–the guy in chair. The one that helps the hero look up all this stuff and–”

Michelle interjects. “You can’t tell anyone, Leeds.” 

“Fine,” he relents. “I’ll see you later, Jones.”

“Text me when you get home.”

“Okay,” Ned smiles, waving again before making his way to the stairs.

When the door slams shut, Jason jolts up from the couch, comic books still in his arms. “Shit.”

“You can sleep on the couch, Jason.”

“Oh, thank God,” he yawns. “Figure anything out?”

Peter answers with, “Ned is a genius! We’re going to check out the tunnel that’s linking the worlds together.”

“Cool,” Jason yawns. “You can keep the comic books for now. But take care of them, please. They’re in mint condition.”

“Jason, I can get you new copies for free,” Michelle says, arms crossed as she makes her way to her bedroom door, gesturing for Peter to follow. Peter’s eyes brighten, and in the baby blue lighting of the early morning sky, Michelle can almost make out a nervous smile. 

“It’s not the same, and you know that!” Jason shouts from the living room. 

“Yeah, yeah. Goodnight, Jason!”

“Night, MJ!”

When she closes the door behind her and Peter, she lets herself plop face down on her bed, drained of creative, social, and physical energy. 

“MJ?” Peter asks. She rolls over, facing him as he stands with his back still against her door. 

“Oh, yeah. Old family nickname. Can’t seem to shake that off.”

“Right…” 

“Why?”

“Oh–uh–nothing. It’s a nice name,” Peter says, the pitch of his voice slightly higher than usual. Michelle sits up, gazing into his eyes to look for more answers. He moves across her room and places himself next to her. “Well, I have a neighbor named MJ. I don’t really talk to her, though. She’s always just in and out of the building.”

Michelle purses her lips, pushing away the ideas rushing to her head, too tired to assess the information Peter’s given her, her eyes feeling heavier by the second. Her view moves from Peter’s face to his body – the skin-tight suit still accentuating his muscles. “Do you need pajamas?”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll just sleep in this,” he gestures to his suit.

“You’re not getting underneath my blankets in a sweaty suit.”

“I can sleep on the floor.”

Michelle gets up, walking to her closet. “Don’t be ridiculous, Parker.”

She throws over a pair of sweats and an extra-large ESU sweatshirt – her typical choice of outfit for when she and Cindy devote an entire weekend to watching their favorite romantic comedies. 

He catches them with ease. “Thanks.”

She stands with her own choice of pajamas in her hands as Peter presses the Spider button on his suit, letting the outfit fall to the ground. The sunrise is slow and gradual, but it casts a glow on Peter’s skin – highlighting his torso. 

Michelle swallows. “I–I’m gonna… change in the bathroom.”

“Right!” Peter says, panicking as he uses the pajamas to cover himself. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she quickly paces away, hiding the way she can’t hold back her grin, her face feeling warm from gazing at Peter’s muscles. He’s _ripped._ And real. 

Peter Parker is real. Spider-Man is _real_. 

She locks herself in the bathroom, washing her face thoroughly, letting that information etch itself permanently in her brain. Michelle takes her time changing, completing her nightly routine although she can hear the birds chirping already.

This is the first time she’s been alone in hours. She runs her wet fingers through her hair. She brushes her teeth. She sighs.

When Michelle tries to check the time on her phone, she realizes she's gone the entire evening without looking at it – all of them have. In a way it was nice, being disconnected from the world and immersed in a new one made up of two. She tucks her phone in her sweats again without looking.

She’s had enough of screens for tonight.

As she makes her way back into the room, Peter’s still in the same spot at the edge of her bed, dressed in her own clothes – a sight that Michelle can admit (to herself) she’d like to see more often, wondering if this would be a recurring thing as they move closer and closer to the deadline.

“You know you can lie down, right?”

“I was waiting for you,” he says. “Sorry, that sounds… weird. I just–I just felt weird. It’s your bed, and I didn’t want to be the first person to mess up the sheets. And wow, that sounds even weirder. I don’t–”

“It’s okay. We can go under the sheets together,” she teases.

“Okay,” Peter stifles a laugh. 

They lay side by side, Michelle’s body as stiff as ever realizing that she hasn’t witnessed Peter be as still as this before. Silence washes over them. She tries to count sheep in her head to let herself fall asleep – the weight of sleepiness disappearing the moment she sank into her mattress.

And then, he asks, “Michelle?”

“Yes, Peter?”

“You knew about the former Stark thing.”

She swallows. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

“Okay. It’s okay,” he forgives her without letting her apologize first, even though she wanted to. “Can you promise me something?”

“What is it?”

“If anything important happens when I disappear again, and I know I probably will… will you tell me?”

Michelle closes her eyes, holding in that pang of guilt that’s been hitting her periodically. “Okay.”

“Thanks, Michelle.”

“You’re welcome, Peter.” A beat. “Do you think we’ll find each other again? If… _when_ you disappear.”

“I think so. We did it twice now.” Peter yawns, stretching his arms from behind his head, letting one fall behind MJ’s neck. She lifts her head, leaning into his lazy, half-embrace. He reassures her by saying, “We can do this together. And with Ned! And Jason.”

Peter rambles a lot, she realizes. Especially when he’s nervous.

Somehow, that makes her heart flutter even more.

One more yawn, eyes heavy and closed already, Michelle says, “Yeah, we can.”

As drowsiness finds its way back into her system, Michelle allows herself to rest for the few hours they have before moving forward with defeating Mysterio. She turns the world off again, the darkness beneath her eyelids being a familiar friend and welcoming her into slumber. But as she drifts off, she doesn’t realize the faint vibrations coming from her phones – notifications buzzing in on top of the ones she’d already had before deciding to go to bed without checking.

-

-

-

[9:04pm]

 **Cind:** OK I THINK I BELIEVE U BECAUSE HAVE YOU SEEN TWITTER

 **Cind:** UR TRENDING IN NYC!!!!!!!!

 **Cind:** I’M!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[11:34pm]

 **Cind:** ok i get it. you’re mad at me… i know you like to be left alone and stuff. I was planning on staying at liz’s tonight anyway ok?

 **Cind:** love you :(

[5:50am]

 **Ned:** i’m home

 **Ned:** are you gonna tell him about the deadline and our plan, or am i?

 **Ned:** you can’t keep this from him you know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos/comments appreciated ♥
> 
> Let's chat it up on [Tumblr.](https://spideysmjs.tumblr.com/)


	5. guy in chair, guy is where

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Ned? Is everything okay?”_
> 
> _“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m at the portal,” he says. “You guys need to get here now. Something’s happening.”_
> 
> _“What is it?” she says, opening the door with haste, ushering Peter out as she slams the door and locks it behind her._
> 
> _“It’s...glowing. It was like this when I got here. No one’s here… but hurry.”_

**SUNDAY, 5 DAYS BEFORE THE DEADLINE** **  
****TOO LATE FOR BREAKFAST AT THE JONES-MOON RESIDENCE**

Waking up, limbs tangled with her favorite, once-fiction superhero isn’t a normal Sunday morning. Michelle blinks her eyes open, yawning into Peter’s neck as she stretches her arms, turning away from him and facing the other side of the bed to ignore the light seeping in through the window. 

She doesn’t want to look at the time knowing they’d fallen asleep right as the sunrise was welcoming the city into wake. She curls up, legs wrapped around a pillow and arms pressed against her chest, refusing to believe that when both of them are finally awake and functioning, they have to discover a way to save the city, and potentially the world. 

There’d been no significant advances into piecing Mysterio’s motive, and why Peter keeps being looped back into his timeline, at the cliffhanger they’d left off. He’s stayed longer in her universe this time around, but the creeping fear that he’ll disappear any minute lingers in the back of Michelle’s mind – as if she’d turn back around to face him on her bed, and all she’d see are ruffled sheets. 

But suddenly, arms pull her into an embrace, Michelle backing up into Peter’s body, the muscles in his chest and arms flexing around her in a tight hold, like both of them are safe, for now. 

“Good morning,” he whispers, his sleepy voice sending shivers down her spine as she melts into his touch. It’s dangerous, the way she’s allowing herself to connect to Peter, to connect to a superhero that, just one week ago, only lived in publications that she’d successfully become a part of and, just a few days ago, she planned a demise for. 

“It’s probably late in the afternoon,” she laughs, a hum escaping her lips, savoring this moment knowing that they’ll be making their way to the portal to meet Ned very soon. “I’m glad you’re here.” She can feel her heart jump out of her chest in fear and a small puff of breath leaving Peter’s mouth. “I mean, you know. You didn’t get forced back into time and–”

“Yeah, I get it,” he chuckles. “Sorry for–” he squeezes his arms around her again. “–this. I just… I needed to see if you were real, and not just some illusion.”

“I’m real, Peter,” she says. 

_But are you?_ she thinks. Her body stiffens at the thought, pulling away from his soft grasp as she crawls out of bed. “We should get to work. To figure things out.”

The notifications on her phone alarm her, screen drowning in messages from close friends and distant relatives, all capitalized and making her body shake in worry – what has she done to get these? 

_1:42pm_

The time shocks her, Michelle shoving her phone in her sweatpants pocket, ignoring the messages and saving it for later when she’s settled in from waking up. 

“It’s late,” she says. “We need to eat and then get our asses to solving. You know, that superhero stuff that you do.”

Peter sighs. “Yeah. I know.”

She scans his face for answers, to search for the meaning behind his sigh. She finds nothing, unable to read the look on his face, only able to detect a sense of exhaustion. She accepts it. It must be hard to be traversed back and forth universes, an experience she’ll never know. Michelle, wanting to distract him, asks, “Pizza? It’s lunchtime anyway.”

He grins. “Sounds great, MJ.” 

Her stomach flutters, and maybe it’s because her body clock is off and she hasn’t eaten when she’s supposed to, but the nerves feel different nonetheless – a _good_ different. “MJ?”

“That is your nickname, right?” he says, rubbing his eyes and stretching, Michelle being positive that her clothes won’t fit the same and if she were ever to wear them again she’d only think about how they once hugged Peter’s skin. 

“It is,” she says. She ushers her head to the door. “Come on.”

Both of them get ready lazily, taking turns in the shower. Michelle goes second, fearful that when she steps out she’ll find no one in her apartment. After she finishes her routine, she steps out of her room again, dressed in lazy Sunday clothes to savor the last hours of the weekend before she goes back to the hellstorm at work, trying to keep secret the existence of the character that they take pride in the most. 

At least she has Leeds by her side. 

“I know a great place just downstairs,” she explains. “It’s me and Cind’s favorite.”

“Does she believe you yet?” he asks, mask in hand as he’s about to pull it on to be completely dressed and ready to go.

“I don’t know. She texted me a lot last night… I haven’t checked.”

“She’s your roommate,” he urges her, a voice soft and steady. She pulls out her phone, acknowledging the relationship, remembering that no matter what, Cindy will always have a place in her heart – despite her framing Michelle as batshit crazy. 

Her eyes widen at the texts, not just from Cindy but from other co-workers and friends.

She’s on the front page of the New York Times. She stops just as she’s about to open her door. Her heart drops. 

“Peter,” she says, voice painted with worry. “I think you need to see this.”

He peeks over her shoulder. “Shit.”

A high-quality image of Michelle soaring through the sky in the arms of Spider-Man tops an article. Several articles, from several different platforms. Her name is trending, not in the way she’s ever dreamed of, always hoping it’d be from her writing. Instead, it’s from being framed as a damsel in distress in a wacky publicity stunt for Bugle Comics. 

They scroll through the headlines, Michelle’s heart racing faster and faster, embarrassed to be photographed in so many angles, but even more fearful that they’ve blown their only way to keep Peter under the radar. 

_HAS BUGLE GONE TOO FAR WITH THEIR SPIDER-MAN ANTICS?_

_SPIDER-MAN PUBLICITY STUNT IN THE SUBWAY_

_JONAH JAMESON: DESPERATE FOR REVENUE_

But one article, one with the least likes or traffic, catches her eye.

_SPIDER-MAN REAL, BUGLE COMICS AS A COVER-UP_

She swallows. She feels a hand dip in the small of her back, rubbing gently. “It’s okay. This happens to me all the time in my world. Just ignore it.”

“But Mysterio’s going to–”

“He was always going to find me eventually.”

“Peter,” she tries. “Maybe you should stay here and hide.”

“I don’t ever hide,” he says, a firm grip in his voice, one that Michelle had yet to hear during his stay. Before she can argue, her phone begins to ring. Saved by the bell. 

She sees her screen, a video call from Ned. When she answers, he’s in a dark room, the silhouette of his face shined by a backlight. 

“Ned? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m at the portal,” he says. “You guys need to get here now. Something’s happening.”

“What is it?” she says, opening the door with haste, ushering Peter out as she slams the door and locks it behind her. 

“It’s...glowing. It was like this when I got here. No one’s here… but hurry.”

“Be careful Ned,” Peter says, grabbing the phone away from her, Michelle trying her best to not be irritated at the move, knowing that Ned could be in danger. “Mysterio’s dangerous. He could get there any second. You need to get out of there. We’ll debunk the tech after when I get there. We’ll see you soon.”

They make their way down the hall, hurriedly rushing down the stairs as Peter throws on his mask because the elevator takes too damn long to show up. Before they exit the stairway, Peter falls to the ground, hand gripping his ribs. Michelle leans over, hands on his shoulder. 

“What’s wrong, Peter?” she says, shocked by the way he’d collapsed on the metal ground. 

“I just–I don’t know. I feel funny,” he shakes his head. “It’s the same way I felt when–ah!”

He bangs his head to the ground, wincing in pain. “What can I do, Peter? Tell me what to do to stop this.”

“There’s–ah–there’s nothing,” he says. “I think I’m being sent back, MJ.”

“You can’t leave me now,” she says, arms holding onto him, hoping that no one opens the entrance to the stairs. Suddenly, the pain in Peter’s eyes disappears. His body softens, rising from the ground and leaning against the wall for a moment. She asks, “What happened?”

“I don’t know…” he says. “But we need to hurry.” 

They burst through the door, Peter clashing his wrists together and the nanotech of his weapons forming his webshooters. Michelle watches in awe. 

As they make their way through the lobby and out into the world, the bright, burning sun blinding her eyes, he looks at her, worried. “Peter, people are going to take pictures again.”

“It’s fine,” he laughs. “I’m not really real, anyway.”

The joke pierces through her heart, making her ache as she wraps her arms around his shoulders, waiting to be hoisted around him. “You feel pretty real to me.”

“Maybe,” he says, a quiet tone in his voice. Then, a _thwip_ , and Michelle’s looking at the ground from fifty feet in the air, citizens getting smaller and smaller, Michelle still being able to witness the way they grab their devices. She buries her head into his neck, both from the increasing height and potential public exposure. In just a few seconds, she’ll be making headlines again, and maybe this time, more people will be convinced that Spider-Man exists out of the comic books.

She shuts her eyes, feeling the wind breeze across her body, clutching so close to Peter’s body, trusting him with her entire life despite not knowing what to do next. She thinks about the deadline, less than five days away, wondering if she still needs to try to finish whatever the hell she was trying to concoct in the first place, or if the answer lies beyond her writing. 

When they land back on the concrete, more people are staring. She uses the fringe of her hair to cover her face despite knowing that won’t work, that there are cameras all over the city and that she’s probably being watched by Mysterio and his henchmen as they make their way to the subway. Instinctively, Peter intertwines his hands with hers, Michelle not missing that spark of electricity in her fingers with the initial touch, but the spark is overcast with panic and the need to meet Ned in the tunnels. 

But once they finish swimming through the ocean of angry passersby, into the restricted section where Ned had pointed the source of glowing lights in a portal, they see nothing but darkness – the same black hole facing them from just a day ago. 

She shakes her head, acknowledging that the passage of time is forever shifting, that time isn’t real anymore – Michelle not being able to tell what even _is_ real in the first place. She breathes, “It’s gone. The glowing.” 

Peter ignores her, Michelle watching him as he scans the area, his entire body shifting erratically, noticing the way he moves is different when he’s being overcome by senses. His spider-senses, the ones that turn into a prickling feeling of a need to protect. She knows this and studies him, almost distracted by the fact that she’s been looped into his world despite being in hers. 

“Ned!” he shouts. “Ned! Are you here?”

She checks her phone, gripping its sides with panic, checking if there’s any emergency calls or messages that she missed while they were swinging. 

No notifications. They hear a spark and see a flash of several lights. He sighs, “The portal.”

They rush closer to the darkness, following the source of the light. They find a metal box hidden in the darkness. It’s smashed, wires pulled apart, and several sheets of crumpled paper scattered around it. 

“It’s Ned’s,” she says, cringing at the wide-ruled sheets that she’d tease him for using back at work. “He had to have left something.”

Both of them ruffle through it, reading several codes, but no coherent note left behind. 

“If he was here, where’s his laptop?” Peter says, almost to himself, as if Michelle’s presence is an afterthought. She can’t help but feel useless. She’s human. She’s just a writer. She doesn’t know anything about how to navigate through the city of New York, fighting an evil supervillain who wants Peter to be dead. 

But the supervillain in question is just a writer, too. Or so Michelle thought, anxiety driving her through the roof as she anticipates having to go into work tomorrow, facing him in his normal state, wanting to expose him but knowing that with her position and role in Bugle, no one will believe her. 

Especially after the “publicity stunts” she’s pulled. Peter interrupts her train of thoughts, the ones separate from the reality she threw herself into. “Ned’s watch. It’s right here.”

He’s at the very edge of the darkness. The watch is just like new, not smashed. No signs of harm, she figures. 

“He went through the portal,” he says. “I think he broke it on purpose, MJ. He’s trying to fix it from the other side.”

From Peter’s world. 

“How do we get there?” she says.

“You can’t without the portal. I don’t know why he broke it,” he rushes back to the metal box, on his knees and staring at the metal. She moves over, shining her phone’s flashlight on him. 

“So Mysterio was never here?” 

“No,” he says. “He was going to be… But Ned broke it.”

“He wanted to stop Mysterio from resetting your timeline.”

“It’s not the story that needs to be written,” Peter says, in a whisper.

Michelle, exasperated, finishes his thought with, “That was all a part of Mysterio’s trick. To throw us off.”

“And did it work?” a voice says from behind them, Michelle’s entire body freezing. Looks like she’s clocked in earlier than Monday at 9am. “ _Michelle_ , our star writer.”

His greeting feels like an insult. A bubble of anger rises in her chest, but she feels the way Peter places her hand carefully on her shoulder, calming her down. She wants to do something, _anything_ , to smack Mysterio’s face and knock him out. 

But she can’t. 

“Beck,” Peter hisses. “What do you want from me? From us?” 

“I thought that was obvious by now,” he laughs, eyes menacing and cold – the same eyes he gives the room during a meeting. Michelle always knew there was something wrong with him. She might as well quit the job now. “I want you dead, Peter.”

Michelle’s heart stops. She eyes Mysterio, scanning him up and down, dressed in a ridiculous maroon costume that must be heavy to walk around in. It’s strange, watching the eyes of someone she’d run into the hallways of the Bugle, be a villain. She almost wants to laugh at herself, always feeling goosebumps as she watched the way he carried himself, silencing everyone around him.

“You’re in my way,” Mysterio says, staying put as Peter and Michelle block the broken box. “Once we get there, we’re finishing this once and for all, Parker.”

“You can’t do anything,” Peter says, one arm hovering in front of Michelle, a way to keep her guarded – a way to tell her that he will keep her safe. “The portal’s broken.”

“What?” he seethes, stepping forward in a way that nearly makes Michelle trip over, embarrassed that she’s stuttering over her own feet at someone that her own company created. She and Peter step aside, revealing the sparking beaten electric box. 

Mysterio’s eyes widen in anger. Even in the dark of the tunnel, she sees the vein on his temple jump out. “What did you do?”

“We didn’t do anything,” Michelle says, her heart racing as the first words to escape her mouth leave unwillingly. “And now you can’t. So.”

“You’re messing with things you know nothing about, Jones.”

“I’m doing exactly what you’re doing, Beck,” she says. “For months, you paraded around the Bugle like you had all the experience in the world. You tricked everyone. It’s probably not that hard.”

He rolls his eyes. “All the people in this world are gullible.”

“How long have you been planning this?” she says, stepping forward, Peter’s hand grabbing hers, not to hold her back but for support. He squeezes it. “Since you got here? Beforehand?”

“It’s funny,” Mysterio shakes his head, “Once you realize your actions have been controlled by a different universe, and you start ignoring those voices in your head forcing you to do actions on their command… the power you gain...” He paces closer to Michelle, making her feel small even though they’re the same height, and looks directly into her eyes. “It’s unlimited.”

“Don’t,” she says.

“You’re gonna tell him, or am I?” Mysterio smiles, an evil and frightening thing.

“Tell me what?” Peter asks, stepping forward, with a touch of hesitance, as if he knows this conversation isn’t between him and Mysterio anymore. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, Peter.”

Mysterio raises his brow, chuckling, moving on from the subject. “The portal is broken. You don’t know how to work it. Does your comic knowledge experience educate you on the consequences, Miss Jones?”

“What do you mean?”

“If that portal stays broken, your poor little Peter Parker will disintegrate in your little universe.”

“What?” Peter says, anger in his voice steady but intense. 

“But that wouldn’t hurt you, would it?” Mysterio pushes. “You made my job easier. And yours.”

“What’s he talking about, MJ?”

Mysterio hears the nickname, a grin spreading across his face like the Grinch before he fell in love with Christmas. “ _MJ_?”

“It’s a nickname.”

“This is too easy,” he says. “Everything working out the way I thought it would.”

“What were you planning, Beck?” Michelle asks. 

“A magician never reveals his secrets,” he says, lifting and twisting his wrists – a watch lighting up as he pushes buttons. 

“And we’re not waiting to find out,” Peter says, rushing forward and grabbing Michelle’s waist. “Close your eyes, Michelle.”

“What? Why?” 

“Just do it,” Peter says as Michelle panics with the way she hears a _thwip_ , but before her eyes can follow where the webbing leads, darkness surrounds her. 

Peter’s body turns into a pile of spiders, the surge of the arachnids bleeding from his limbs making Michelle lose her grasp and land her body on the cement. She winces in pain, luckily having avoided smashing her head on the ground. She calls out, “Peter? Peter, what’s going on?” 

She’s no longer in the tunnel as if she’s been transported. Did Mysterio take her through the portal? Is she still in her world?

“MJ, can you hear me?”

“I can hear you, but I can’t see you.”

She can hear the laughter from behind her, one that disgusts her with how much joy is buried within it despite the misery she’s putting herself through. 

“It’s a trick!” Peter says. “Don’t believe it. Follow my voice, MJ.”

Numbness spreads throughout her body, anxiety rising in her throat, throwing off her senses in a way that makes her lose her breath. She’s not built for this. She’s human. She can’t handle this. 

And suddenly, a screen lights up in front of her. She sees herself in the meeting room.

“No,” leaves her lips. “Peter, where are you? We need to get out of here.”

_“Mr. Beck wants to reinforce Peter’s legacy,” Michelle says. “So I thought of something.”_

_“What did you think about?” Flash asks._

_“I made an outline. A new character. Named Miles. Peter’s going to be his mentor.”_

_“Another Spider-Man?” Ned asks, joining the conversation._

Michelle’s heart is racing, watching her entire world fall apart before her as Mysterio displays the memory like a damn movie scene.

_“Exactly.”_

_“Two Spider-Men in the same universe?”_

“What is this MJ? Is this real?” Peter says in the middle of the illusion.

_“Nope,” Michelle pops her lips._

_“What do you mean?” Flash narrows his eyebrows at her, the entire team closing in on their meeting._

The screen turns off, static rushing through the display. It turns off. Michelle feels a relief, just for a moment. And then, it turns on again.

_“Michelle, you’re what?!” Ned shrieks._

It’s just as if this happened yesterday, Michelle feeling her gut wrench knowing that it’d been recently, that although it feels as if time has suspended amidst the action of two worlds combining, this idea is new. She hasn't even changed her mind on it. There’s no way to escape this illusion, no way for Peter to avoid hearing the one thing that she’d been too afraid to admit since he came into her window, bloodied up and asking for help.

_“We’re going to kill Peter Parker.”_

And then darkness again, the only sound creeping through her veins coming from Mysterio asking, “So who’s really the villain here, Miss Jones?”

Like a light switch, her surroundings return to normal, back in the tunnel they’ve crawled into. The electrical box is still broken. There’s a timer projected on the dark portal. 

_24 HOURS_

She turns around, no longer hearing Peter’s voice call out for her, only to meet his gaze – eyes red, disappointed, and betrayed.


	6. through the portal

_Her knees are just about ready to give in from having sped through New York on foot in her trusty, but very old pair of combat boots. She’s never been prepared for something like this, not when her world is colliding with one despite not knowing there had been the existence of more than_ one _world._

_Michelle should have known humans, being too self-centered, disregarded the universe outside of the one they’re in. Hell, they barely care about anyone outside of the 1%._

_She drops to the ground, legs shaking from adrenaline, but Mysterio is nowhere to be found, nor is Peter. Instead, she’s weaving through the alleyways of an empty sreet that’s supposed to feel familiar, supposed to feel like the city she was born and grew up in, and yet, the sky is less saturated and the clouds feel heavy for an oncoming thunderstorm._

_It’s strange. She doesn’t feel any semblance of control, legs feeling like jello without remembering where she’d started running or who she was running from...or towards. A sudden heaviness pulls at the bottom of her chest, traveling to her gut as she gasps for breath._

_Is this what it feels like? To have no control? To not know what will happen next? What if someone is making her do things? Has she no agency to move? Her legs no longer feel like an extension of her body, but an anchor that’s dragging her down to the concrete and into what feels like Earth’s core._

_And then, she gasps – losing her breath, filling up with uncertainty and fear and most of all, loneliness._

Michelle wakes up, gasping for breath as she hears the monitor beep frantically beside her. Just a dream. _Just a dream_. Eyes slowly blinking wide open, she sees Cindy jumping from the stiff armchair of the white room she’s in. 

“Oh, ‘Chelle, I’m so glad you’re okay! We were so worried about you. Jason’s in the cafeteria, he hasn’t eaten all night, so I told him to catch the early breakfast,” Cindy, voice high-pitched and full of a comforting panic, continues to ramble on about how Michelle had been out for almost an entire day, how the doctor saw her blood pressure high and blood sugar low, and how they’d been called by the hospital. 

Yet, all Michelle can hear is a mechanical whirring in her head: the sound of lenses shifting up and down before the mask came off, revealing the bloodshot look in Peter’s eyes after Mysterio’s video projected onto the screen of the abandoned station.

In fact, that’s all she can remember – no ability to recollect the events that followed Michelle’s desperate call for Peter, her attempt to follow him out and back into the public buzz of subway regulars, and a sudden, inescapable darkness. 

She winces in pain, a sharp huff coming from her throat as her stomach clenches and her knees pulse. In her hospital gown, she slips her hand next to her legs, fingers tracing against her scraped knees, twitching at the rough touch. “Shit.”

“You’re on work order to stay home for the rest of the week,” Cindy says.

Michelle blinks. “I have a deadline on–”

“You hadn’t eaten in 24 hours,” she frowns, her voice stern as she sits herself down on the edge of the bed. “You were fatigued, and you fainted.”

“I can bounce back and go to work tomorrow, I need…”

“You are resting all week,” Jason says, barging through the door with an orange juice pouch in his hand. Michelle offers him a pointed look, one that’s begging to be read as a call back to the past days they’d spend scouring for clues about Mysterio. Jason pulls his lips, offering a warm smile before sighing as he says, “I know your boss is out there, plotting some evil _thing_ that you haven’t figured out, but…”

“How is this statement allowed to _have_ a ‘but’?” she interrupts, eyebrows furrowed. “Wouldn’t you want to stop him if you had the chance?”

Jason tosses the empty orange pouch into the trash can, stepping close to Cindy, both of them now giving a look that fills Michelle’s mind up with guilt, despite knowing deep in her heart she’s done nothing wrong. She’s trying to be a hero, trying to model herself after who inspires her, trying to be more than someone who was manipulated into a bigger, darker picture of what she thought she found herself in last week.

 _If only time travel existed_ , she thinks, yearning for the time when she had zero knowledge about the absurd reality of Spider-Man and his very own universe. 

“MJ,” Jason interrupts her train of thoughts, though the call of the nickname only makes her heart shatter more – that guilty feeling rising and lodging her throat once again as she thinks about how she misses the way her nickname sounds in Peter’s mouth. “You are only human. You’ve done more than enough. You shouldn’t be pulled into these shenanigans.”

“I’m not getting _pulled._ I’m helping.”

“There’s more to this than you think,” Cindy says, hands patting Michelle’s shin, softly rubbing her skin. “Your work at home order… Well, Harrington gave it to you, too.”

“What?” Michelle says, sitting up. How much could she have missed? “How long have I been out?” Jason and Cindy look at each other, then back at her – the same solemn stare. 

“MJ…” Jason whispers, like maybe there’s still seconds left before the universe can change its mind so that he doesn’t have to reveal the truth. “It’s Monday morning.”

Her stomach drops.

**MONDAY, 4 DAYS BEFORE THE DEADLINE** **  
** **5:43 AM, FOREST HILLS HOSPITAL**

“I’m not going to finish that publication,” Michelle pouts, having cooled down from realizing that it’s already the start of a new day. 

She can’t even bear to think about who he is under the mask, remembering the way she felt safe in his arms as he lifted her through the skies or as he cradled her in bed. Michelle hasn’t brought herself to even ask about him yet, knowing that it’ll open a can of worms that she’ll have to reluctantly present to Cindy. 

Now that he’s not in her sight, though, Michelle can almost feel like everything’s back to...normal. Even if she can’t really call it that because normal is nowhere near the same thing as _real_.

Cindy paces around the room now, checking her FitBit for an increase in steps because she’d stayed overnight the past two days, taking work off to make sure Michelle does nothing to try to escape to the Bugle Offices as the buttcrack of dawn. She says, “I think you can stand to think about anything other than work right now, Michelle.” 

“No,” Michelle corrects her, a longing ache in her bones accepting the looming judgment she deserves for wanting to kill Peter. “I mean I… the story I came up with. I can’t do it.”

Jason sits up from his couch, leaning in after almost dozing off. “What do you mean?”

Michelle swallows thickly, the truth so badly wanting to crawl out of her mouth. And then it does, her chest feeling a slight edge of release as she confesses, “I was going to kill off Peter.”

“What?” Cindy and Jason say, both at different levels – one of elated laughter and the other of hurt, respectively. 

“MJ, that’s… that’s like the ending of every other disappointing franchise,” Jason squints. “You would never do that!”

“I thought I wouldn’t,” Michelle shrugs. “Or I guess I’m not now… but the plot was good, I promise.”

“What were you going to do after killing him?”

“There was a new Spider-Man. One that learns from Peter, and…”

“And then what? His mentor dies, and everything that happens to him revolves around him? He’s guilted with the legacy of Peter forever?”

“Plot-wise, that’d be a hard standpoint to dig yourself out of with the audience,” Cindy purses her lips, deep in thought, probably using that one screenplay writing elective as her backup for research. But it’s the truth all the same. Michelle just didn’t want to accept it, even if she realized completely that the direction was flat – a result of being rushed into perfecting a deadline and pressured by higher-ups to make a concrete decision immediately. 

Her dream job isn’t what it’s cracked out to be, and she chuckles at herself knowing that’s oddly the least of her worries right now, Michelle’s mind going immediately straight to Peter, wanting to tell him that she’s changed her mind since her creative decision was brought to the table. She promises. 

Tears well up in her eyes, but she looks away, out of sight from the two closest people in her life, too embarrassed to be vulnerable about her mistake. Peter could never forgive her. She wouldn’t be able to forgive herself, either.

“Okay, it sucks. But Myster–Beck–basically spoon-fed that shit down my throat. He wanted to ‘leave a legacy’,” Michelle says, fingers turning into air quotes as she rolls her eyes, pretending she’s staring straight at the man. “I don’t know. I didn’t want to write a shitty story. I couldn’t think of anything for weeks.”

“The pressure probably hit you,” Cindy offers, “because it’s a big milestone to be in charge of an entire issue.”

“Especially if it’s your favorite character growing up,” Jason adds. 

Cindy walks closer to Michelle’s bed, the sound of her feet tapping against the cheap linoleum of the hospital room, every other noise has turned white in Michelle’s ears as time passes on. Her best friend brushes her temple, moving away baby hairs that are always stuck against her skin if she’s sweaty. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there enough to notice you’d been stressing too hard. And I’m sorry I didn’t believe you about…”

“Peter,” Michelle sighs, the ghost of his name echoing in every chamber of her heart as she speaks it. An ocean wave of silence drowns their conversation. She asks, “Where did he…”

“He was the one that brought you here,” Jason answers, a thick tone to his voice – the same, familiar one that Michelle used to hear on the playground after the girls in her grade teased her about her comic book lunchbox that was _for boys only._ Jason would puff up his chest and nearly get sent to the principal’s office for defending Michelle. 

Her heart always feels calmer after hearing it. 

Jason continues, “He was able to find your insurance information and emergency contact list–good job for keeping those on you at all times, MJ–and that’s how the hospital called us.”

“He left a note,” Cindy says. “It doesn’t say much.”

“You didn’t catch him out of the door?” Michelle says, rubbing her eyes furiously because there’s something in the air of the hospital, not because of the uncontrollable tears cascading down her cheekbones. 

She hears a crumple of paper. Probably the note. Probably shouldn’t even read it if she knows there’s not much on it. 

It’s for the better. Maybe now that he’s out of her sight, she can try to forget him as easily as he entered her life.

“No,” Cindy finally says. “Just the note.”

Head still buried in her hands, Michelle feels the oncoming pulse of a headache, the signal in the morning that lets her know it’s time for her coffee. Though now–waiting for the last visit from the emergency room doctor to give her a rundown on home remedies for whatever checked her in–Michelle assumes maybe caffeine at six in the morning as her first meal being discharged from a hospital due to severe fatigue isn’t the best decision. 

“Oh,” she says. 

The conversation ends prematurely with the door swinging slightly open and the doctor walking in. He’s tall and sweet-looking, a glow around him like she can easily brighten Michelle’s day, even if his dark circles are noticeable which she assumes comes from the hours of the emergency night shift.

“Good morning, Dr. Banner.”

He smiles, “Good morning, Michelle. Are you feeling better?”

“Loads,” she says. “In fact, I think I can work tomorrow if you just print a new note that–”

“I’m afraid I have to advise against that,” he frowns. “While you fainted, you got a mild concussion and I don’t think it’s a good idea at all to put your body in more stress with work.”

_(And fighting super-villains)._

She can feel the vein in the temple of her forehead popping out, unsure if it’s from the migraine or the annoyance she feels when everyone around her is blockading her goal of being able to save the city from danger – to save Bugle Comics from corruption. To save Spider-Man. To save Peter.

“I’ve prescribed you medication for migraines. You’ll be getting them throughout the recovery week. You also might want to schedule an appointment with the neurologist to…” Dr. Banner rambles on, listing notes that Michelle knows is printed in the report he’s going to hand her after discharging her. 

She feels fine. She’ll have her favorite bagels with Cindy and Jason, and she’ll take a quick shower and be ready to go to work. She has to be there, no longer worried about the deadline but determined to finally figure out the exact goal of Mysterio’s plan, wondering if he was even aiming to do something other than killing Peter. 

The anticipation kills her, but patience is a virtue as she nods her head along to whatever Banner’s instructing her to do. 

Once she decodes Mysterio’s plan, stops him from executing the said plan, and turns in a perfectly happy ending issue for Spider-Man’s last publishing date – then she’ll be good to go because the exposure of wanting to originally kill Peter won’t matter anymore. It will be a thing of the past, and she can go back to Peter and apologize and they’ll work things out.

They’ll be friends again if they ever were. Michelle likes to think they still are. 

“But I now discharge you! Please go home and rest. Eat. Your body should never go to those lengths to give you a sign that you need to recharge,” Dr. Banner wraps up his home remedy rundown, Michelle almost feeling guilty that she didn’t listen to him thoroughly, but pushing away her conscience because she refuses to indulge self-care when the city’s on the brink of a disaster. 

Cindy hands her a change of clothes, a set that makes Michelle tilt her head sideways: dark jeans, her Joan of Arc shirt, and her lucky blazer. “I thought I was just going home.”

“Oh,” Cindy says, a nervous smile. “This was before the doctors _and_ Harrington gave the home order.”

“There has to be a reason he doesn’t want me there,” she says, grabbing the clothes and waving Jason away so that she can change. Jason walks out of the door with Dr. Banner, letting both of them know he’s headed to the parking lot already. As it closes behind them, Michelle begins to slip into the outfit as she says, “It's probably all the bad press. They're thinking about the wrong damn thing. The entire company is suspicious. I can't trust anyone. Except for Ned."

_Ned._

Her body stops, jeans halfway pulled up before bringing her hand to her chest and sitting down carefully. Cindy rushes over to her, hands hovering, trying to find a spot to soothe her. She asks, “What’s wrong, ‘Chelle?”

She blinks, and it’s like she’s taken back to the portal. The broken box. The darkness of the abandoned station. Mysterio’s laugh. The countdown read _24 HOURS._

Michelle didn’t know what it was for, but as she reads the clock on her phone she reads 8:55 am. She has just about 6 hours before those 24 hours are up, but to convince Cindy, she’d have to play her cards right. 

“Just got dizzy,” Michelle lies, frowning at herself for no longer feeling guilty. She stands up, dragging her pants up, jumping into them as she continues, “Let’s go home, Cind. I bet Jason’s waiting for us in the car all mad.”

Cindy snorts, looping her arms around Michelle’s while she guides her out of the hospital room, looking back and scanning the area for any forgotten items as she says, “Yeah, totally.”

**MONDAY, 4 DAYS BEFORE THE DEADLINE** **  
** **8:45 AM, THE ROOFTOP OF FOREST HILLS HOSPITAL**

Even the comforting, swish of the New York City morning breeze feels unfamiliar in this world. Peter’s shoulders deflate after attempting to breathe in the crisp air, a technique he’d learned from Aunt May as a way to feel more balanced in the world. But, as he forces himself to meditate, to find that clarity he’s forgotten the definition of since this latest scheme, his foot still taps furiously at the concrete of the roof.

His thoughts are all that consume him. 

He can’t stop remembering the regret-colored eyes that Michelle offered to him – the same color of his heart as he attempted to walk away, only to hear his name one last time in a tone that called for help. 

When he whipped his head back around, almost ready to abandon the mess he’d been pulled into because of Michelle, he saw her on the floor, arms sprawled. Mysterio had already zoomed away or appeared to have been gone, Peter rushing back and scooping Michelle in his arms as he faced the dreadful feeling creeping into his chest realizing this action had become too painfully familiar. 

He frowned as he sped through the station, seeing the flash of cameras or the extension of arms into the sky while trying to avoid their recordings. Michelle didn’t need to be in the headlines again, though Peter knew it was too late to avoid that. Peter knew she’d be talked about for weeks, years, all of history – wrapped around the idea that superheroes really exist. 

A smile began to lurk in the corner of his lips as he started reminiscing about the beginning days of Spider-Manning. Finally, a comforting warmth calmed him down, Peter rearranging his hold of Michelle. He wrapped her in his arms, secure and tight before he _thwipped_ his web into the sky – nostalgia had rushed through his veins. 

He didn’t know what caused the sudden rush of feelings while he soared through the sky. Maybe swinging had always felt this way. Maybe it was because he’d found solace in holding Michelle as he rushed her to safety. Maybe it was the brush with death he’ll be facing because of her actions. 

Peter had never felt this uncertain before: betrayed that he’d been sticking close to someone who wanted him dead, confused on how his reaction should be given the circumstances of the multi-verse and falling. 

Not physically, Peter launched himself up and down with his outstanding coordination. 

Falling for Michelle. He couldn’t deny it even if he tried. 

But at that moment, he had a bigger responsibility to get her checked in the hospital, discovering her information and providing it to the front desk as they carried her on a gurney into an emergency room. It was only when he noticed what felt like thousands of eyes landing on him did he realized he was still donning the Spider-Man outfit. A little kid, mouth wide open, slowly lifted his phone and began to record. 

“Boy, you’re making this slow Sunday evening more entertaining than anyone ever can,” the receptionist chuckles. “Are you late to Comic Con?”

Peter shook his head. “Listen, it’s hard to explain right now but–”

“No need, buddy. Got it all on the tabloids.”

Peter huffed, running to follow the EMTs who had wheeled Michelle up into her room. “Happy reading, ma’am.” 

When he arrived in the hallway outside her room, the second receptionist on the floor reassured him that both emergency contacts were on their way. Peter pressed the watch on his phone, panicking as the 24-hour countdown turned into a 23. 

It felt endless, but finally, Jason arrived not shortly after Cindy. Peter rushed over to Jason, knowing that out of the two contacts, he would understand since they’d met. But as Peter began to speak, Jason gently pushed him aside, rushing to Michelle, eyes angry from the glimpse that Peter caught. 

“What did you do to MJ?”

“I didn’t do anything, I just–”

“You need to go, Spider-Man.” The label felt different like Peter was no longer Peter but the shell of a hero that had been created for the purpose of entertainment – not for the purpose of responsibility. Maybe he should have gone, should have listened, and took his ass back to the portal so he could fix it and swap places with Ned, who actually belonged here.

“Can you just… can you give her this note?” he placed in Cindy’s already-opened hands. “I can’t stay here because we discovered something new with the portal and–”

“Portal?” Cindy’s voice overlapped his. “You’re not really real, though are you?”

Peter didn’t know how to answer, so he shrugged. “Just keep me updated when she gets discharged. I don’t think she fell too hard, but it might be overnight. And if she wants to – only if she wants to… I’ll be on the roof before she leaves…” 

Jason sighed. Cindy clapped her hands slowly before she said, “Will do, Spidey.”

“Thanks,” he said while awkwardly ushering himself out of the room, letting his hands land on MJ one last time before attempting to thwart Mysterio’s plan once and for all. 

The loud crash of metal swishing opened, then closed wakes Peter up from his own memories. He turns quickly, heart rate increases with excitement, only to turn around and see Jason, arms crossed and frowning. 

MJ didn’t want to see Peter. The fresh wounds on his thigh are less painful than this feeling. Although, Peter has experienced the gashes on his skin more than whatever this is. If it’s heartbreak, he doesn’t accept it, not wanting to admit that of course, from Parker Luck, he’d fallen for someone out of his world. Literally. 

“Oh,” Peter says, shaking his head at the ground, a foolish feeling making its way from his gut to his throat. “I get it. I just…” _Really thought she’d want to at least talk it out._ “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

“Actually, Spider-Man,” Jason says, frowning and Peter doing the same, the slip of disappointment in Jason’s breath easily noticed. “I don’t... I don’t think you should try reaching out to MJ anymore, okay?”

Peter blinks. “What?”

“Yeah,” Jason says, his face etched with worry. “Seeing her in the hospital like that… It’s hard to stomach and she’s just a comic book writer, she doesn’t really know how to handle villains. And she definitely doesn’t need to be in danger ever.”

The immediate reaction in Peter’s head in frustration. How could anyone deduce MJ to one single thing? _Just a comic book writer_. Peter could scoff. Peter could shake his head and argue and say that there are a million and one things MJ is outside of her productivity. 

But he just nods his head quietly. “Okay.”

Even if he’d felt a connection, felt a direct line of electricity the moment he entered through the portal that led him to her home, Peter has to be respectful. 

Peter has to understand that this isn’t a comic book, which his life is apparently so – a shiver down his spine as he thinks about the idea of fate. Despite everything, despite the fact that maybe in this different universe he _does_ have free will, he knows the truth. 

He knows MJ doesn’t want to talk to him about her plan. About his plan. For them. 

He knows that he’ll end up dead in just a few weeks. He starts to feel sick, blinking rapidly to fight the tears that are forming in the corner of his eyes. 

Peter’s faced many goodbyes at the expense of being who he is. 

Yet this one... this _silent_ goodbye, this _now you know who I really am_ goodbye, this _I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again_ goodbye is a loss he never thought he’d have to deal with. He checks the countdown on his watch, only less than seven hours away from trying to rescue Ned from his world. He shouldn’t be wrapped around a person, not when the stakes are too high and there’s no good end to it. 

“Thanks for taking her to the hospital,” Jason says. “Do you–um–need anything? Or help or resources?”

Peter sighs, relieved at the airiness of Jason’s voice. 

Then, he thinks about the third all-nighter he’d just pulled, alone and wandering the streets of a strange city, ending up at Bugle Comics, sneaking in and reading up on everything his eyes could handle before he started being chased by good ol’ Kevin again.

“I’m good. I think it’s best if I figure it out on my own. Maybe it’s a Spider thing.”

Jason laughs. “Maybe.”

“I’ll uh…” _See you? That makes zero sense. You won’t see him again._ “Bye.”

“Bye. Good luck.”

Peter turns around, dragging his mask back on to hide the shame as he weaves his way back to the portal, ignoring the cameras like it’s become part of the job, and missing his New York City where the blur of red and blue was a common thing and _not_ a potential publicity stunt disaster. 

At least he has that familiar adrenaline rush as he launches into the sky. 

At least when all is turning into dust, he still can feel like he’s flying. 

**MONDAY, 4 DAYS BEFORE THE DEADLINE** **  
** **10:25 AM, THE JONES-MOON RESIDENCE**

She’d been tucked in bed for an hour now, leg shaking restlessly underneath her sheets. The last time she’d tried to sneak her way into the living room, Cindy waved her off, telling her to go back inside, “And let me take care of you today, ‘Chelle! I called off.”

Desperation is eating at her alive, knowing Peter might still be lurking in the shadows of her New York, setting himself up for trouble as always does. The worst part is not being able to contact him. Did he even have a cell phone that worked? Would her phone coverage take care of long-distance via multi-verse?” 

Michelle lets a puff of air out of her mouth, her fringe flying softly upward. She peeks at her window, frowning at how the daylight seeps in just as it does every day, but Peter’s skin isn’t reflecting off the sunshine. Peter isn’t there, and that’s all her mind is telling her. 

Peter, Peter, Peter Parker. 

She shifts her view from the window to her work laptop, another disappointed and exasperated sigh escaping her lips. She can’t finish the story now. She could get fired, for all she cares. She refuses to kill someone. 

Then, she thinks of Ned – the plunging fear diving into her stomach as she wonders if he’s okay. She trusts Peter, trusts him more than anyone to figure out how to save the day, but still, she worries that the story can’t move on without her. 

What if she _is_ a key element to who Peter is? To the solution of this problem? To Mystesrio’s plan? 

She looks at the window again, tapping her fingers against her thigh, her body still shaking from anxiety. Fuck it. 

Michelle gets up from her bed, shaking off the bedsheets before shimmying out of her sweatpants and into the outfit Cindy had so carefully picked out for her. The lucky blazer is snug, but she pulls it close to her body instinctively, like a prayer to cast a protection over her as she makes her way to the window, opening the sill and sneaking away from her room. 

No webbing will get her to the station in double the time, but at least she’s _trying_.

It’s the least she can do. 

**12:32 PM, IN THE ABANDONED STATION**

It’s a minute for Michelle to collect herself, the mix of a head rush and a heaping amount of fear turning her vision into static. She uses her arm to hold herself up against the poster wall of outdated announcements of free garage shows, art pop-ups, and essential services. 

She finds herself counting to ten more than once, deep breaths moving in and out of her airways as she focuses in on the mindless and animated chatter of passersby. A woman comforting her dogs whimpering fear of the subway. An echoing strum of guitars from the corner of the staircase. A child asking for her ticket. 

It calms her, the sounds of her home. She finally finds the courage to find the entrance to the abandoned station that’s called her in so many times. 

When she arrives, she’s not alone. 

“Peter?” she says, embarrassed that her voice sounds small in a way that she’s never felt before. 

He turns around, letting go of the tools he’s tinkering with on the electric box. The portal reads the countdown: _3:21:03._ It’s glitchy now, but at least it’s on. 

Michelle’s heart shatters when she watches Peter’s eyes go wide as if he’d seen a ghost. He _really_ didn’t want to see her again. She understands. And somehow, that’s telling enough for her to just frown, sigh, and give up. 

“I’m… I don’t even know why I came. I’m–I’m useless,” she says. “I’m sorry, Peter. I’m–I’ll just go.”

He gets up, but she turns around, stepping away quickly. Her heart is racing, feeling so idiotic for chasing a fairytale she’d made up in her head, but then she hears Peter call out, “Wait, MJ. Please stay.”

His voice stops her in her tracks. She feels a warmth settle into her chest like liquid.

She smiles. “Okay.”

Mostly, they work in silence, save for Peter rambling on about physics, quantum theory, and other stories that remind her of Ned, and how hard they’re trying to manually fix the electric box. She tries to remember the steps, Peter engrossed in the beauty of science, but all she can think about was the way Peter brushed off the story of his nasty beat from the night before. 

Peter had explained his Bugle Comics break-in and how he had gotten into a fight with Mysterio’s sweaty guard, but nothing else. That doesn’t stop Michelle from eyeing the gash wounds he’d forgotten to clean off, wincing at the bacteria that’ll make it into his bloodstream.

“When I found Ned’s personal files, I felt kinda bad for swiping them,” he says, voice muffled from the way he’s holding a screwdriver between his teeth. “But I bet it’s something he wanted me to do.”

“Of course,” MJ reassures Peter. She pauses, taking a quick sharp inhale. “Do you think we’ll make it in time before… whatever this–” she waves vaguely around the dwindling countdown “–is?”

Peter grumbles, “I’m working as fast as I can.”

“I know! I know,” she says, softer, worry still hidden in her voice, though it’s pulled back as she remembers they hadn’t talked about her _plan_ yet. She wonders if they’ll address it. Probably. But there are more important things, she supposes. At least that’s the look on Peter’s face as he connects the red wires to each other.

“Fuck,” he says. “I don’t. I don’t know how to fix this and–and Mysterio is nowhere to be found, and–”

“Peter,” she says, inching closer to him on the ground as she ignores the dirty and grime of the concrete. “Ned could be helping too, on the other side. That’s what he said.”

“That’s what we _think_ he said.” He lifts his head back. “I can’t bank on a maybe.”

“Yeah, but… at least we don’t know everything, right?”

Peter’s eyebrows furrow, confused – nearly offended. Michelle pulls a small grin in the corner of her lips. “Sometimes when you don’t know what’s going to happen, you have more power to make the next choice.”

He chuckles, almost a scowl. “Easy for you to say.”

Michelle bobs her head down. “I know.”

“You can’t expect me to be okay with that right?” he says, pointedly. A part of his reaction takes Michelle aback, but then again, she’d never found out that someone wanted her dead. Even if it was all fictional, she would probably be offended, too. 

“I don’t. But it’s not like I’m doing it anyway,” she says, fingers playing with one another as a distraction from meeting Peter’s gaze. 

“Because you don’t want to? Or because I found out?”

Something in his tone of speaking anchors Michelle down, but she feels like she’s drowning. “I didn’t– _seriously_?”

“What?” Peter scoffs, Michelle instantly annoyed at the sarcasm that she’s written so many times on paper. “After all we’ve...gone through... I just–I don’t know. I thought you liked me. Didn’t think you wanted me dead.”

“I didn’t–you don’t understand, Peter.”

“I think I get it loud and clear,” he rolls his eyes, hands still tinkering with the delicate device, the glow of the portal becoming brighter and brighter as the hours fade away. He’s close to fixing it.

“You–” she says. “Just a little over a week ago, you weren’t real. I didn’t know my decisions were going to lead to whatever hell this feels like.”

“This feels like hell, MJ?” he says. “Try living it every day. Then learning it was all for nothing.” He patches together another wire. A beat. The sound of small metal echoes in the station. “Because just a little over a week ago, I found out I wasn’t real.”

It hurts like hell seeing the pain in Peter’s eyes, thinking that everything he’s done – everything being controlled by an outer being – is all for nothing.

“But it’s… it’s not _nothing_ Peter. You are real.”

“I guess.”

“It’s true,” Michelle says. “I… I feel it.” She grabs his hands, intertwining their fingers together as she presses both of them softly on his chest, ignoring the worn down tearing of Peter’s suit. “Here.”

His heart rate is fast, growing faster, feeling more real than ever before. Peter pauses his attempt at fixing the box, screwdriver hitting the ground quietly. He uses his free hand to rest it on top of hers. 

“I’m not used to getting close to people so fast,” she says. “I–I wanted to tell you the truth the second you came in my window, but… I just couldn’t believe you were real.” 

Finally, they share a gaze. It’s sad, confused, but warm all the same. He grins at her, slipping his hand away to cup her face and trace his thumb across her cheekbone, moving a loose eyelash from her face. “I think… we were meant to find each other.”

“Yeah?” she asks, hopeful. 

“Where you live–um–that’s where I live. And I think...I think we’re drawn to each other because of it, MJ.”

“Me, too.” She looks at him like he’s an angel, not missing the way he licks his lips before he closes his eyes, leaning in to press into her. The kiss is slow, but Michelle’s heart beat fast, wanting to deepen it, and doing so by wrapping her arms around Peter’s neck.

His hands embrace her waist, pulling her in, both of them rising to their knees to find more balance while their tongues start to dance. She feels herself sigh, smiling into Peter’s mouth as he mirrors her, a feeling of _finally_ running through her. 

She knows she’s not forgiven, she knows there’s a conversation to be had after they save Ned, and she knows that she doesn’t _even know_ if she can see Peter after this. Yet, Peter’s lips feel like a dream as their hands map each other’s bodies, and all she can think about is how she’s more than willing to travel across the multi-verse to have this feeling forever. 

For as quickly as the kiss started, it stops even faster – the flashing glow of the portal becoming as bright as ever, lighting up the darkness of the abandoned place. The countdown disappears, both Peter and Michelle tilting their heads, wondering what it was for in the first place. 

“My watch says we have one hour,” he explains. “We need to find Ned.”

“Okay,” Michelle nods, finding the momentum to follow the lead and help Spider-Man–help _Peter–_ save Ned. “We–we can do this. It’s fine.”

“I–I know the place, so,” he says shyly. “Just stick with me.”

“Is this a sticky Spider joke?” Michelle quips.

A blush spreads across Peter’s cheeks, he grins at her, eyes lighting up. All he does is lean forward and press his lips against hers, soft and sweet. She melts into it for a second, then pulls away. “Let’s go get 'em, Tiger.”

He intertwines his hands with hers, leading her through the portal, Michelle closing her eyes as she feels her entire body go numb, bracing herself as she enters an entirely different world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they kissed...Yay!
> 
> Kudos and comments are appreciated - what do you think is next?


End file.
